


a map of who you are

by casdoms (moffwithhishead)



Series: dean has tattoos in canon don't @ me [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alive Mary Winchester, Eventual Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, John Winchester Abuses Dean Winchester, M/M, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Tattoos, Underage Drinking, very brief mentions of sex work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 57,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moffwithhishead/pseuds/casdoms
Summary: Dean Winchester is a man of many secrets. Dean Winchester is also a man who wears his heart on his sleeve.This is the story of how Dean got all of his tattoos that he definitely won't ever tell Mary.
Relationships: Cassie Robinson/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s), Rhonda Hurley/Dean Winchester
Series: dean has tattoos in canon don't @ me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144487
Comments: 85
Kudos: 191
Collections: mp's favs





	1. vonnegut on his thigh

**Author's Note:**

> So friends, this is an idea that I've always had, that Dean has tattoos under all those layers in canon and that's why he wears so many layers, but I recently decided to finish a fic I had started in s12 and it made me write down all the ones I think he has. And now here we are, I have nothing to do because of quarantine and I think a little character study would be kinda fun. This might take me forever to finish fully, but the rest of the chapters should be: 
> 
> John’s dog tags under his right armpit  
> ‘Beloved’ in enochian on his hip  
> A ‘C’ in enochian on the webbing of his finger  
> the samulet next to the dog tags  
> Sam, John and Mary’s birth and death dates under that (sams death date is crossed out once already)  
> Cherries on his ass cheek (he lost a bet)  
> A set of dice on his upper thigh, like where you can only see them without underwear on  
> The model of the gun he used the first time bobby took them ACTUALLY hunting (but he was a responsible, reasonable adult and it was the BB gun version)  
> A feather on the back of his thigh  
> A hand print on his lower back  
> Buffy’s stake but like, from the comics  
> Scooby’s dog tag on the thigh with the feather  
> ‘There is no why’ in Castiel’s handwriting going up his left calf near his knee  
> “Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road” right at the bend of his right knee  
> A tiny little enterprise that Charlie drew on the back of a Starbucks cup on the inside of his left arm  
> Enochian protection symbols on his ribs  
> Lipstick next to the cherries  
> A North Star on the top of both his feet  
> The coordinates of their house in Lawrence under his bracelets
> 
> They'll be differing lengths, some might even be combined, and I'll update tags and warnings as I go. I would suggest reading the other thing I wrote, just for some vague context of where I think this all fits in canon.

Sonny was always more forgiving than John, about a lot of things. One thing that Dean was always grateful for, was that he felt that it was important for them to be able to be, y’know… kids.

So, Dean’s sixteen standing in the basement of some kid’s house from school, with a red solo cup in his hands. Robin’s here, somewhere, but he doesn’t know where she went. It doesn’t matter, they’re not together or anything, but he just – he thinks he likes her.

Maybe loves her?

Dean takes a sip of his beer and looks around the basement, feeling woefully out of place and also, absurdly excited to be here. He’s never been able to go to a party before.

Kyle – Kevin, maybe? – the kid who’s throwing the party, is yammering on in Dean’s ear and he tuned him out a while ago.

He feels his head bobbing along to the music without his permission and if Dean really focuses, he recognizes the voice singing. He’s heard her on the radio before in the Impala, but John never left it on for long.

Dean smiles to himself as the song changes, and this time it’s one he recognizes.

John would probably disown him and have a few choice words if he knew, but damn, he’s a teenager in the 90’s, of _course_ he likes hip hop.

 _I love it when you call me Big Poppa_.

“…Anyways, my brother comes home and he’s got this tattoo gun –“

Dean’s brain catches that last part of whatever this kid is saying (he’s really gotta remember his name) and it makes a lightbulb go off in his head. Huh.

“Hey,” Dean turns completely, so he’s facing the kid. “Does your brother actually tattoo?”

Kevin (Kyle? Ken?) grins, cross-faded beyond comprehension, “Hell yeah bro, he’s pretty good too.”

Some kid on the other side of the room yells before dive bombing off of the bar and the whole room erupts into loud, celebratory screams. It’s like, the perfect cliché high school party moment and Dean doesn’t even care that he’s missing it.

“Sick,” Dean remarks, feeling his own grin spread across his face. “Can he do one for me?”

Kyle (it’s a K name, he’s sure of it) claps a hand on his shoulder, shrugging, “I don’t see why not, man. Le’s go ask.”

He takes Dean’s hand abruptly and turns, pulling the two of them out of the main room in the basement and down a side hall. Dean tries to pretend that the heat spreading up his back to his face is just because it’s hot with all these kids crammed down here, and not because a cute boy is holding his hand. Especially since they’re having to shove past couples making out all up and down this narrow hallway and wow, it’s getting hard to focus.

It’s fine, right? Anybody would be blushing like this in Dean’s position. It’s not weird.

Kenny (fuck, he really should just ask him or something) drops his hand to knock on a door at the end of the hallway, “Jake!” He’s practically yelling and Dean chugs the rest of his beer when he feels the judgmental eyes of the couples turning to look at them. It’s fine, everything’s fine.

It takes a moment but then the door opens up and Dean’s brain fritzes out for a second.

Wow. Jake has gotta be the hottest guy he’s ever seen in real life.

 _Wait, what_?

Jake glares at them, clearly amused that his little brother is fucking toasted, “What do you want Cam? You can’t make out with your boytoy in my room.”

 _Fuck_ , Dean swears internally. Not a K name then.

Cameron (allegedly) shoves Dean forward when he doesn’t say anything, “Not a boytoy. He wants a tat.”

It’s only at this point that Dean realizes he actually hasn’t said anything yet.

“Uh,” he tries, offering a hand to Jake. “Name’s Dean.”

He examines the offered hand for a moment and just when Dean’s certain the door is going to get slammed in his face, he looks up at Dean and says, “You got money?”

Dean nods, pulling his wallet out and handing over the $20 he got for doing a bunch of yardwork last weekend with some of the other boys from Sonny’s place.

Jake seems to think about it for another moment before sighing and opening the door wider, “Yeah, okay, why the hell not.” Dean nods, passing the $20 into his hand as he walks through the doorway.

Cameron makes a move to follow them but Jake stops him with a hand on his chest.

“No fucking way bro, I don’t want you anywhere near this with your drunk and germy ass.”

Absurdly, Dean feels a little lightheaded at the idea of being alone with this guy (or is it that he appreciates the consideration for his safety – he doesn’t want to think about it). He offers Cam a smile, “I’m good man, thanks.”

Cameron offers them both a salute with the same hand that his cup is in, and ends up spilling it on himself with a delighted cackle. “Aye-aye, Captain!”

Dean has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.

Jake however, just slams the door in his brother’s face with an amused snort, “How drunk is he anyways?”

Dean hums, looking around the room with interested eyes, “I dunno… he’s been talkin’ to me for the last thirty minutes with that same cup, but I wasn’t really listening.”

The music is much quieter in here, and he can’t make out any of the words anymore. But the room is clean with really only some clothes near the dresser, and the desk in the corner is a little cluttered, but it’s – it’s nice. It feels… cozy.

Jake makes a noise of affirmation, walking over to start clearing off at least part of his desk, “How drunk are you?”

Dean snorts, his eyes flying over all the books stacked under a record player in the corner.

“I had one beer…” He drops down onto the floor and pulls a book off the shelf, turning to grin at Jake, “You got good taste.”

It’s a well-worn, well-loved copy of Cat’s Cradle. It looks almost as beat to shit as Dean’s is.

Jake doesn’t quite smile at him, but he does look thoroughly amused at Dean’s excitement, “Yeah, I do alright.”

Dean sets it back on the bookshelf and sighs contently, relaxing back against the bed, “You don’t really look old enough to be, y’know…” He watches him move around the room easily, cleaning off the desk and pulling a big case out from the foot of the bed, “Doing this.”

There’s a muffled yell from somewhere out in the basement, and then the sound of another crash, and Dean can’t even bring himself to wonder what he’s missing.

“Eh,” Jake shrugs, going through the motions that he’s clearly done many times before. “Dropped out the same week I got an under the table apprenticeship. Been doin’ it for almost two years now.”

Dean squints, mentally doing the math, “So, you’re… what? 17? 18?”

Jake glances over his shoulder at him, smirking, “Why?”

Even Dean’s slightly impaired brain catches the implied question, and he squirms a little bit on the carpet, shrugging. “Can’t a guy ask questions?”

They both go quiet after that for a couple minutes, Dean too embarrassed to say anything else, and Jake too focused to try and carry a conversation with a kid he doesn’t know.

Maybe ten minutes later, Jake claps his hands together and it makes Dean jump out of his skin. He tries to glare at him, but judging by the way Jake’s barely containing his laughter, it probably doesn’t come across as very threatening.

“Okay,” Jake turns so he’s facing Dean in his chair. “What do you want?”

Dean nods, leaning forward and grabbing another book off the shelf, “You know the portrait?”

Finally, Dean seems to be the one with the upper hand, because Jake is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Uh…” He squints at Dean, a small bit of amusement threatening to break into a grin, “No?”

Because he’s kind of a brat, Dean scoffs and flips to the title page where the autograph and self-portrait are staring back at him, “You don’t know and it’s your book?!” He leans forward, stretching as far as he can to hand the book over to Jake.

He looks at it for a moment, barely containing his smile, “You want this?”

Dean nods, scooting around so he’s facing Jake’s desk. “Yeah.”

Jake looks back up at him, feeling a little bit bewildered by the request, “You’re sure?”

It takes a lot of Dean’s self-control not to groan, so he just nods and says, “Definitely.”

They just stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, but is probably thirty seconds, before Jake laughs outright and shrugs, “Yeah, okay.”

Dean squawks, indignant, and moves so he’s sitting at the foot of the bed instead of on the floor, “What? You think it’s dumb or somethin’?”

Jake seems to consider him for a moment before his smile softens, “Nah, it’s just…” He points his pencil at Dean, “You’re kind of a weird kid.”

Dean huffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m not a kid. I’m gonna be 17 in January.”

He doesn’t say that he’s never really been a kid. He doesn’t say that this isn’t his first beer, but this is the first time he’s been able to go to a party and stay for longer than ten minutes. He doesn’t say that this is the first time he’s ever felt like a kid, but that he’s not really good at being 16. He doesn’t know how to talk to kids his own age because they’re only thinking about the SAT’s and prom and the sports team they’re on, and Dean can’t stop thinking about his little brother being alone with John.

“I just,” he says instead. “I just really like his stuff.”

And he knows that Mary supposedly liked it too.

Jake shrugs, still smiling at Dean, “Hey man, I’m not complaining. Just, y’know…” He turns around and starts pulling things out of his desk, “Cam probably doesn’t even know who Vonnegut is.”

Dean snorts, pulling his legs up onto the bed to sit with them crossed, “No offense, but your brother is kinda dumb.”

At that Jake barks a laugh, his shoulders relaxing minutely, “You’re not wrong.”

They talk while he works, about what kind of music they’re into and the other authors they’ve read and Dean even talks about Star Trek, and Jake just listens to him talk for as long as he wants. There’s no calling him a nerd or interrupting him, he just… listens. Eventually he asks Dean after a couple minutes if he’d be okay with it being freehand. He agrees because all the practice drawings Jake’s been doing look damn near perfect (and, well, he’s sixteen and doesn’t know how tattoos work).

Dean goes over to the record player and puts something on when Jake’s ready to start.

Ramble On starts thrumming through the speakers, and they can just barely hear it over the music from the party. It’s kinda nice.

He helps Jake pull the desk closer to the bed and the whole time they’re talking like it’s normal and they’ve known each other forever.

“Okay,” Jake interrupts him before Dean goes off on another tangent. “Drop your pants.”

For a second, Dean thinks that the record player is actually the source of the record scratch he just heard but nope, that was his head. Somehow, all the color drains from his face at the same time the rest of him starts to feel too hot and his skin feels too tight.

Dean makes a choking noise that was supposed to be a ‘What?!’

Jake sets a hand on his arm, biting his lip to stop from laughing at Dean’s panic, “You said you want it on your thigh, right?” He doesn’t wait for Dean to respond, he just squeezes his shoulder and says, “I need to shave it.”

Some part of Dean’s brain powers back on and he swallows, not sure why he’s so panicked, “Yeah, uh –“ He forces a laugh, “Yeah, duh, I – I knew that.”

Mercifully, Jake turns around for a moment so that Dean can pull his jeans down. He hops up onto the bed, feeling a little exposed, and ends up pulling a pillow onto his lap for, uh… reasons.

“Okay,” Dean squeaks out. He clears his throat, trying to get it back down to its normal pitch, “I mean, uh…” He gestures at his leg, “Go ahead.”

That time Jake does laugh at him and that’s fine, that’s fair, Dean likes his laugh. It’s nice.

Jake makes quick work of shaving the spot, a consummate professional – or at least, Dean assumes he is. He’s never actually gotten a tattoo before.

The alcohol that gets poured over the spot and then wiped off makes him hiss through his teeth, mostly from the temperature than anything else. Jake squeeze’s his other knee, meeting Dean’s eyes again with a smile. “Sorry, almost ready to start.”

And jesus, what a picture he makes.

Dean’s not gay, totally not gay, but wow, Jake is… beautiful. If he was a girl, Dean wouldn’t be able to stop talking about how gorgeous and full his lips are. Ever since he turned 13, Dean’s gotten shit for his lips and he never really got the appeal before, but he thinks he might get it now. Because yeah, if Jake was a girl, Dean would totally want to kiss those lips.

And you know, from a totally Not Gay perspective, the guy’s got a really nice face – a strong jaw with as much five-o’clock shadow that an eighteen-year-old can grow, dark skin that makes the color in his lips pop and the slight bit of green in his eyes glow.

And that smile? Jesus, Dean’s man enough to admit it makes his heart do the same thing it does when Robin smiles at him. It’s a really, really nice smile.

And the fact that Dean suddenly can’t not imagine Jake on his knees, sucking Dean’s –

He shakes himself out of it and he can feel the blush spreading across… well, probably across his whole face really.

“Okay,” Dean chokes out, trying desperately to pretend he isn’t getting hard under the pillow.

Jake smirks make him feel like he knows what Dean is thinking about, but he’s kind enough not to say anything. Not that there’s anything to say, clearly, because Dean’s definitely Not Into Dudes, he’s just – he’s just… hot. Like a girl, or –

The song changes as Jake finally (finally) turns the machine on. He makes eye contact with Dean, giving him another out if he wants it, “You ready?”

No.

Dean swallows and offers him his cockiest grin, pretending he isn’t freaking out, “I was born ready.” There’s a moment where it feels like Jake’s going to back out, going to call Dean on his shit, but then he leans forward and draws the first line.

He brings a hand up to bite at his fist and has to choke back a yelp.

Jake looks up at him again, not even bothering to hide his amusement, “You good?”

Dean nods, “Yeah, I, uh –“ He smiles, embarrassed, “I’m good. Go ahead.”

Thankfully, Jake just goes back to work without any further comment. It doesn’t hurt really, it just feels… weird. Dean grimaces at one pass and oh, okay, yeah, maybe it hurts a little bit, but it’s not like getting hurt on a hunt bad.

He closes his eyes and lets his mind zone out while Jake works.

Because his brain is terrible and can never be trusted, the first thing that pops into his head is that if he popped a chubby thinking about Jake, a dude, on his knees in front of him, he might actually be gay.

And well, that’s just – that’s a can of worms he’s never going to touch, at least not until John is dead. He winces at the thought, imagining that his dad dying would be a good thing, and Dean feels guilty. This is why John left him here.

If Dean doesn’t get off this train of thought, he’s going to have a panic attack in front of this really ~~hot~~ nice guy and he’d rather not embarrass himself. He tries to focus on the music and that isn’t even working because Dean can feel his muscles fighting to move.

Jake must notice because he takes that time to start talking while he works.

He tells Dean about high school, and the shop that he’ll legally work at when he turns 18, and about how bad his parents freaked when he dropped out. He tells Dean about his brother, about this girl that he went on a date with last week that was in love with her roommate, about the concert he went to last month – about everything and nothing, and Dean forgets… everything.

He forgets to panic and he forgets that his leg has gone numb from the vibrations of the gun. He laughs more than he has in a while, and they’re real laughs, the ones that make his whole face light up.

In return, he tells Jake about Sam, about Robin, about how he’s never stayed in one place so long, about high school and how much he really likes physics. Jake calls him a nerd again and Dean just shrugs, trying to play it cool. Really, he’s just excited to feel like he understands something in school.

It takes a total of 30 minutes for Jake to finish. He cleans it off carefully, explaining to Dean the whole time how to properly take care of a tattoo and what the healing process is like.

Some part of his brain wonders if he should be taking notes, because Dean’s a little too lightheaded to be sure he’s going to remember all of this in the morning.

He must have said something to that effect out loud because Jake laughs, “Don’t worry man, I’ve got a pamphlet in my backpack from the shop that you can have.”

He looks at Dean again with that beautiful smile that makes Dean feel like he’s floating. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

The record player comes to a stop with a quiet click.

Before he chickens out, Dean surges forward and tries to pull Jake into a kiss – he misses, and ends up kissing just to the left of his mouth.

They both freeze for a moment and Dean should probably open his eyes to gauge the situation, but he’s terrified that he’s about to get thrown through a wall or something.

Fuck, he’s really stupid.

Instead, Jake huffs a laugh and brings his hand up to rest on the back of Dean’s head. “Hey, Dean?”

Dean squeezes his eyes tighter and has to lick his lips, his tongue ghosting over the corner of Jake’s mouth for a moment, before answering. “Yeah?” His voice breaks, but Dean can barely hear it over the hammering in his chest.

Jake smiles against his mouth, just breathing for a moment. “You ever kissed anybody before?”

He jerks his head to the side just a tiny bit, just enough to answer the question without having to move away. He’s still too scared to open his eyes.

Jake’s hand is big, big enough that his thumb ghosts over Dean’s jaw and it makes him shiver.

“Can I kiss you?”

Dean swallows, finally cracking one eye open.

Their foreheads are pressed together and Dean has never felt so… nervous before. Excited. Terrified. _Hopeful_. He licks his lips again and he shivers a little at the look Jake is giving him now, “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

This time, their lips actually make contact and – _oh_.

Dean makes a soft noise into it, one of his hands grabbing onto Jake’s forearm. He lets Jake take the lead here and just… tries to listen to his body. It’s better than he thought it would be. Jake’s lips _are_ soft, and gentle, and plush and his brain flashes a mental image from before behind his eyes and Dean groans into it.

The groan makes it easier for someone, Dean’s not really sure who, to deepen the kiss. Jake stands up just a little bit, crowding closer to Dean on the bed, and Dean takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around his neck.

He nibbles at Jake’s bottom lip experimentally and it earns him a moan that makes Dean feel like he’s on fire. The hand that was on his head drops down to his lower back and some part of Dean’s brain chimes in with, _I bet he could pick me up_.

Dean whines at the thought, actually whines, and it would be mortifying if it didn’t make Jake make a truly beautiful sound in response.

He tries to lean up more into it the kiss but Jake pulls away, his lips a little swollen and a lot pinker. He closes his eyes for a moment while they both catch their breath and Dean licks his lips, unable to stop thinking about that noise.

“Dean,” Jake starts and he sounds like he’s really trying to argue with himself here. “Dean, look, we can’t –“

That seems to snap Dean out of it because suddenly it feels like everything’s crashing down around him and now, he can’t breathe for a totally un-fun reason.

The panic is clearly written across his face because Jake moves both of his hands to Dean’s cheeks. “Hey, Dean, look at me,” he sounds a little frantic with it. “Dean, buddy, just, look at me – please?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurts out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did wrong, I’m sorry, of course you don’t want to kiss me! Of course you don’t want to kiss me, you’re so cool and I’m just a kid and –“

He’s pulled up into another kiss and Dean’s brain totally fuzzes out with it.

God, he _really_ likes kissing.

Long before he’s ready to stop, Jake pulls away again with a laugh and presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek this time. “Dean, I _really_ like kissing you.” Dean thinks he probably looks really dopey right now, grinning up at him, and he feels like he’s maybe floating. “Yeah,” he giggles a little. “Me too.”

Jake presses a kiss to his forehead, so gentle and Dean feels like his heart is going to explode in his chest. “If you want to continue this…” He takes a step back so he’s no longer touching Dean and he laughs when Dean whines at him.

“Hey, no,” Jake’s grinning at him, and it’s a new grin than any of the other ones he’s seen tonight, and Dean feels like he can take on the world.

“If you, uh…” He brings a hand up to rub at his neck, looking away from Dean for a moment, “If you wanted to, y’know… continue this…” Jake gestures between the two of them and for the first time, Dean’s able to see that he’s not the only one who’s hard. That’s exciting.

“We should wait,” Jake finally says. “Until you’re, y’know… totally sober.”

Dean pouts, getting up onto his knees so they’re almost eye-to-eye.

(Has he mentioned how tall Jake is? Now that the floodgates are opened, all Dean can think about his climbing this kid like a god damn tree and wow, where the hell did that come from -)

“I’m _totally_ sober.” He slurs the ‘s’ in sober, just a little bit.

Jake laughs, his hands coming up to rest on Dean’s hips to steady him, “Yeah okay, whatever you say.”

Dean tries to channel his little brother’s puppydog eyes, his arms coming up to wrap around Jake’s neck again, “Oh come on, _pleeeease_?”

A look flashes over his eyes, something a little dangerous peeking into that expression for a moment, and it’s gone as soon as it showed up. Jake smiles and kisses his forehead again, “Sorry buddy. Talk to me tomorrow morning.”

Dean sighs and pulls his arms away, crossing them over his chest. He looks adorable, not that Jake would ever tell him that.

He finally takes a full step backwards, this time completely out of reach, “So… do you like it?”

Because he’s still a little lust drunk Dean leers at him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “Yeah, dude.”

Jake rolls his eyes, wondering how he ended up in this situation, “The tattoo, idiot.”

Dean blinks owlishly at him for a moment, something finally clicking in his brain, “Oh, shit.”

He really did only have one beer, but he also got high with a couple of Robin’s friends before they got to the party, so Dean just tries to crawl off the bed like that on his knees, with his jeans around his ankles. Of course, Jake catches him before he slams face first into the desk. He’s a gentleman.

Dean yelps, his hands scrambling to grab onto Jake’s jacket. “Oh, shit, sorry.” His fingers dig into the muscles there and Dean makes a noise, “Oh wow, you’re strong.”

Jake doesn’t say anything, just deposits Dean safely onto the floor and takes a full two steps back. He’s a good guy, but he’s not a saint, and Dean seems intent on having all of his firsts in one night (which Jake wouldn’t recommend).

Dean pulls his jeans up enough to hop over to the full-length mirror by the door and his whole face lights up at the tattoo.

“Dude…” He doesn’t know how to communicate how this makes him feel. “It’s perfect.”

Jake covers it for him and helps Dean pull his pants on without disturbing the covering. He keeps a professional distance, and it’s driving Dean insane, but he’s getting close to missing his curfew anyways.

Neither one of them says anything until they’re at the door and Jake’s hand is on the knob. And then because he’s Dean, and he’s terrified and he doesn’t think he’ll do this again, he pulls Jake down into another kiss.

“Thanks,” he says against his lips.

Jake smiles, “My pleasure.”


	2. the opening chords of hey Jude on his other thigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the opening chords for Hey Jude.
> 
> He doesn’t have to know Dean very well to know that a sixteen-year-old boy who wants to get Hey Jude tattooed on him probably has some sentimental value tied to it.
> 
> Dean frowns, looking nervous for the first time since the other night, “Are you sure? I mean –“
> 
> Jake kisses him briefly, damn near chastely, to head off a bickering argument.
> 
> “I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEX WORK MENTION SEX WORK MENTION SEX WORK MENTION
> 
> Also, in case it's not clear: Jake is like 17, Dean is 16 (given the time of year it aired, they don't really say that I remember but Bad Boys is in like the fall ish, so he's almost 17). They do NOT do anything sexual in this lol. and [this](https://cdn3.virtualsheetmusic.com/images/first_pages/HL/HL-8277First_BIG.png) is the opening chords that I'm picturing in my head.

The next time Dean sees Jake, it’s at a diner after school one day. They make out behind the dumpsters and Dean comes in his pants when Jake holds him up against the wall. It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so hot.

A couple days after that Dean’s got another $20 from raking Sonny’s neighbors’ leaves, and he asks Sonny to drop him off at Cam’s house to work on a school project.

Sonny agrees and because he’s Sonny, and he can read Dean like a book for some reason, he spends the whole ride over there talking about the birds and the bees. The first half of it Dean’s terrified that he somehow knows about Jake, but then he realizes that Sonny saw Robin kiss him the other day.

Turns out, Dean’s kind of a hot commodity in his age group.

“Look, Sonny, I appreciate it,” Dean interrupts before he gets to a clinical explanation of how sex with a girl works. “But that’s like…” He huffs, making a vague gesture with his hands, “A while away.”

Sonny ‘harrumphs’ a pleased, gruff noise, and nods as they pull up to Cameron’s house, “Well that’s good to hear, kiddo. But you let me know when it gets there.”

Dean squirms in his seat, “Yeah yeah, sure, I’ll let you know.” He looks over at the house, “Can I get out now?” Sonny rolls his eyes and mumbles something about ‘damn kids.’

“Thanks Sonny, I’ll be home by 10!” He yells as he gets out of the car and runs up to the door. Sonny yells at his back, “9!” Dean turns to glare at him when he gets to the door but sighs and gives him a thumbs up.

That should be plenty of time anyways.

Jake opens the front door and both of the boys wave to Sonny before he actually pulls away from the curb.

Dean pushes him into the house once the truck is out of view and grins, “I want another tattoo.” He considers the situation for a moment before adding, “Please.”

Jake rolls his eyes, “I thought you just wanted to see _me_.”

A moment of panic flashes over Dean’s face and Jake sighs, remembering himself, “Sorry. Nobody’s home, it’s just me.”

He pulls Dean down the hall into the living room where the TV’s playing, “See? No parents, Cam’s at practice, Ali’s at a friend’s house.”

Dean looks around the room, taking Jake’s hand in his, “Oh… okay.”

They both watch whatever’s on MTV for a few minutes, just standing there in the middle of the room. Janet Jackson’s dancing with an animated cat, and it’s really weird, and then suddenly Dean hears himself say, “Hey, after, can I suck your dick?”

Jake sounds like he’s choking on something before it turns into a slightly hysterical laugh, because he’s now spent a total of at least two hours with Dean and he’s still floored by him.

But now, Dean’s the one staring at him like he’s lost his mind (also, like he wants to eat him) and Jake audibly swallows. “Uh… maybe.”

Sure, he’s got more experience than Dean does, but this is… a big responsibility.

For God knows what reason, Jake really _likes_ Dean.

He barely knows this kid, but it feels like he’s known him forever. Dean is smart and he’s funny and he has great taste in everything, and he doesn’t think Jake is throwing his life away or whatever for not going to college. He thinks that Jake is **_talented_** and back behind the diner, Dean had told him that he thinks Jake’s going to be really famous one day.

It was kinda nice.

They go downstairs to Jake’s room after a couple minutes and Dean pulls a piece of notebook paper out of his backpack, “Here go.” He pulls the twenty out of his back pocket and offers it to Jake with a sheepish smile, “If it’s not enough, I can make more, it’ll just take me a couple days.”

Jake hesitates for a moment, looking back down at the sketch on the paper and then up at Dean, “Don’t… don’t worry about it.”

It’s the opening chords for Hey Jude.

He doesn’t have to know Dean very well to know that a sixteen-year-old boy who wants to get Hey Jude tattooed on him probably has some sentimental value tied to it.

Dean frowns, looking nervous for the first time since the other night, “Are you sure? I mean –“

Jake kisses him briefly, damn near chastely, to head off a bickering argument.

“I’m sure.”

It’s worth it for the smile Dean gives him anyways.

It’s easier this time, now that Dean knows what to do, and that they’re more comfortable with each other. Dean tells him about the wrestling team, about this project he really is working on with Cam, about how Robin kissed him the other day.

Jake smiles without looking up from what he’s cleaning, “Oh?”

Dean sighs, flopping back down on the bed, “It was a good kiss…” He knows that Jake can’t see him like this, but suddenly he feels a little too vulnerable so he covers it up like he always does.

“Didn’t make me come in my pants though.”

Jake’s laugh is loud and beautiful, and Dean watches him from an awkward angle on the bed.

They keep talking while Jake gets everything set up, goes through the motions of preparing Dean’s other thigh, and it isn’t up until the gun’s buzzing in his hand that Dean stops talking.

Jake squeezes the knee under the Vonnegut tattoo he did last week (that’s healing beautifully), “Hey.” He smiles at Dean, “You ready?”

Dean nods, but he doesn’t really say anything.

He’s wanted this one ever since he was twelve and he met a hunter who had the EKG of her dead daughter’s heartbeat tattooed on her arm. He doesn’t have anything like that from mom, nothing that is tangibly her, but he does have this song.

And yeah, maybe Dean’s a sap or a pussy, whatever. He loves his mom.

He watches the top of Jake’s head without sitting up and sighs tiredly, “You know…” Dean licks his lips, his voice a little too quiet, “I think my mom would like you.”

Jake pauses for half a second, not sure if he heard that right, but continues tracing over the lines on Dean’s thigh.

If Dean noticed the lack of response, he doesn’t seem to care.

“I don’t know what she’d think about you being a dude,” Dean sighs, his eyes looking back up at the ceiling. “But I think she’d like you.”

Jake smiles to himself, “Tell me about her?”

This time, Dean’s sigh sounds more dreamy than sad, “I don’t really remember much… I was four when she died.” He pauses for a moment, definitely not collecting himself or anything, “But she was my best friend.”

He feels tears welling up in his eyes but he ignores them.

“She made me chicken and rice soup when I was sick… I’m not sure if they’re memories or dreams, but I think we used to play dress up when I was like 3. She’d let me try on her dresses… oh, and she let me play with her makeup.” Dean laughs, blinking away the tears, “When my dad would come home hammered and screaming at us, she’d always come and find me wherever I hid. She’d hold me until I felt safe again… even when she was pregnant with Sammy.”

Jake doesn’t say anything, but he does squeeze Dean’s knee again.

“She was so brave… I’m sure she’d hate that I remember it, but oh man,” he laughs. “I remember when I was like three and a half, mom came home from a trip and I had this big bruise on my face. She went and got dad’s shotgun from the closet and chased him out of the house.”

It’s not a good memory, but it’s the last time anybody ever tried to protect Dean from John.

They’re quiet for a few minutes and right before he starts on the second pass, Jake finally asks, “How’s… how’s your dad?”

Dean laughs again, but it’s a bitter, angry laugh.

“John’s fine. John’s **_great_**.” Dean snorts and brings a hand up to wipe his face dry, “John told the cops to let me fucking rot in juvie.” He leans up just enough to make eye contact with Jake, “Oh yeah, I don’t know if you knew that, I’m living at Sonny’s.”

Because Dean seems to need to get some stuff off of his chest, Jake just goes back to work.

Dean flops back on the bed again, “Wanna know why I got arrested?” He waits for a minute before actually saying anything. Dramatic effect and all that.

“I stole _food_.” He laughs and steadfastly ignores how much he’s crying now, “My fucking dad left us for so long, I ran out of food and there’s no god damn truck stops around here –“

Oops, he hadn’t meant to say that.

For his part, Jake doesn’t really react to that. Dean won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“…I had to get something for Sam to eat.” He sniffles, bringing an arm up to cover his eyes, “That was my big crime worthy of rotting in juvie for. Stealing some fucking bread and peanut butter from a store because my dad can’t do his only fucking job.”

Dean laughs again, “And now I’m here for fuck knows how long, and Sam’s with dad and –“ The laugh turns into a sob, “I’m not there to protect him.”

Jake lets out a breath as he finishes the last line and turns his gun off. He does a quick, cursory wipe of the tattoo and pulls his gloves off before climbing onto the bed and on top of Dean.

He’s fully, fully crying now, and Jake doesn’t like that.

So, he pulls Dean into his arms, slots a leg in between his, and uses that leverage to flip them so that Dean is laying on his chest. Dean wraps his arms tighter around Jake and hides his face in his neck, because this has to be the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to him. Worse than walking home with sticky jeans.

Jake rubs his back while he cries and he, blessedly, doesn’t try to say anything. There’s no pity, not placating, no platitudes, just a firm physical reminder that Dean’s not alone in his grief. He does occasionally press kisses to the top and sides of Dean’s head and Dean feels so wonderfully, devastatingly cherished.

If he was a better man, it would make him cry even more.

It takes him a little while to calm down, until his breathing no longer sounds like hyper ventilating. There’s definitely a snot stain on Jake’s shirt and Dean snorts when he’s aware enough to notice it.

“What?” Jake hums, running a hand through Dean’s hair, “What’s so funny?” Dean tucks his head further into his chest and sighs, “I left a snot stain on your shirt.”

After a beat Jake just shrugs, “Easier to get out than a come stain.”

The answer takes Dean by surprise and he has to pull back so that he can laugh sufficiently.

It gives them both a new angle to look at each other, and Dean can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed anymore. He’s sure that he looks gross, his face is definitely all snotty and red and swollen, but Jake’s still looking at him the same way he has every time. Like Dean is something weird and wonderful and exciting, and Dean’s never felt like anything but a burden before.

So, yeah. He doesn’t mind so much that he cried in front of this hot boy that Dean kinda likes.

Jake brings a hand up to Dean’s cheek and wipes a stray tear away. Because he’s secretly desperate for affection, Dean can’t help but lean into it, turning his head just a little to kiss the hand.

“Dean…” Jake sighs and looks away for a moment, clearly debating whether he should say what he’s thinking or not.

No, he decides. Dean doesn’t need a lecture.

“You’re a really good guy.”

It seems to be the right thing to say, because Dean flops down on top of him again and pulls him into a new hug. Jake makes an ‘oof’ noise at the impact before he laughs, “And you’re apparently a cuddle whore.”

Dean snorts, snuffling even closer to him, “Shut up.”

Jake presses a kiss to the top of his head, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.

“It’s okay. I like cuddling.”

* * *

Jake doesn’t see Dean for a couple weeks.

Finally, he’s home at the same time as his brother long enough to ask if Dean’s doing okay. Cam informs him that Dean hasn’t been at school for the last week and a half. There’s a rumor going around that he got expelled, but he doesn’t actually know what happened.

So the next day, on his way home from work, Jake pulls up to Sonny’s and parks his bike in front of the sign. _Sonny’s Home For Boys_. 

Right.

He hesitates for a moment, not sure if this is going to fuck things up for Dean, before he finally talks himself into just… asking. What’s the harm in asking?

The kids playing in the front yard don’t even look up at him, even as he hops up the front steps. Jake stops at the front door and hesitates just long enough that the door opens in his face before he even gets a chance.

He vaguely knows Sonny, has seen him around, but they’ve never actually met.

As it stands, Sonny’s just glaring at him like Jake’s existence is a deep imposition to him.

“Can I help you, son?”

Jake smiles awkwardly, “Uh, yeah, I –“ Shit. He didn’t think this far ahead.

Sonny crosses his arms over his chest, “Are you looking for someone?”

“Yes!” Jake laughs a little bit, “Yeah, I uh…” He winces, “I was looking for Dean? My brother goes to school with him and he hasn’t seen him in a little bit…”

Sonny’s face is infuriatingly understanding for a moment. “Ah.”

His posture relaxes and he offers Jake a small smile, “He’s gone, kid. His daddy came and picked him up a couplea’ weeks ago.”

Jake figured as much, but it still takes him by surprise how much it hurts to hear it out loud.

He returns the smile, “Oh, well…” He laughs, “My brother’s gonna be bummed. Him and Dean were, y’know, pretty…” Jake swallows, “Pretty close.”

Sonny’s looking at him like he knows a little too much.

“I should, uh,” Jake points back at the road, “I should probably go, then.”

He takes a couple of steps backwards, offering a hand up in lieu of a wave, “I’ll just get out of your hair. Thank you, thanks.”

Jake makes it to the end of the driveway before he hears Sonny yell at him from the front porch, “Hey, kid!”

He turns around, feeling a little bit absurd all of a sudden, “Yes sir?”

“He liked you too, you know.”


	3. a lipstick next to the cherries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mental image of Jake fucking him while Rhonda rides his face almost makes Dean’s knees give out when he finally stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote this all on my phone because ✨inspiration✨ So please forgive me if there are any mistakes. Also, I’m not sure how old Dean was in canon with Cassie, so these chapters could be interchangeable. 
> 
> Warnings: child abuse mention, sex work mention, talk of gender stuff, alluding to dean’s gender struggles, violence mentions, age difference and I’ve never written a trans character before so I feel like that should be a warning too? 
> 
> Any and all constructive (kind is appreciated if you have the spoons, but if not I get it) criticism on anything I can do better about writing trans characters or frankly, BIPOC characters. Embarrassingly, I don’t think I’ve ever written any and I want to make sure I don’t inadvertently put my foot in my mouth. 
> 
> Again, I’ve forgotten how to write smut but please know that Dean is a very needy bottom and he came so hard he cried. ☺️😉

Rhonda Hurley is the kind of older woman Dean always dreamed about.

She’s 23 to his 19. She’s got this incredible red hair and natural curls that bounce in tandem with her breasts when she walks. Her green eyes make Dean dizzy and her perfume makes him feel lightheaded. She’s loud and brash and funny, so fucking funny, and Dean nearly falls out of his chair the first time she kisses him. 

She smells like cigarettes and Juicy Couture and she looks like she walked out of his wet dreams.

Seriously, Dean’s never considered himself to be a particularly shallow guy, but Rhonda? She blows everyone else he’s ever hooked up with out of the water by a mile.

Rhonda’s almost as tall as him, for one, and she’s got a penchant for wearing tall heels. Dean always heard the song growing up but damn, he never really got what they meant by a brick house until he met her. Her stomach is soft and her thighs are big enough to sit comfortably, but she likes wearing corsets on top of her dresses and Dean feels dizzy with it when she bends over.

They met outside of the club Rhonda works at. She’s a bartender, not a dancer, and Dean’s sure it’s only because the other girls wouldn’t get enough attention.

He tells her as much from where he’s perched on a barstool at the end of the counter, watching her flirt with the customers. They hooked up yesterday, and Dean had put on her panties at her request. 

They looked damn good on her but holy shit, Dean’s a little freaked out by how much he liked it.

How pretty he felt in them.

He turns his head to look at the dancer that’s walking onto the stage next, echoing Rhonda’s whooping and hollering from behind the bar.

She leans across the counter and taps Dean’s elbow, grinning at him with her gum poking out of her teeth, “That’s my best friend!” Dean grins and leans closer, valiantly pretending not to look at her tits spilling out over the corset, “She’s great!”

The dancer on stage climbs up to the top of the pole, flips upside down and Dean looks back again just in time to see her drop. She falls about 3 feet and catches herself with her thighs and damn, she’s looking at some poor bastard at the tip rail like she wants to eat him. 

Rhonda serves the customers as they come up, flirting with some of the drunker ones and she wheedles a couple hundred in tips out of the idiots. Dean damn near swoons when one of them slips her a $50 - a woman after his own heart.

She slips him some food right before her lunch break, and they go sit in the locker room while they eat.

Dean tells her some story about a hunt he did a couple weeks back and leaves out the supernatural details of it. Rhonda tells him about law school and working at the club and how the new management seems to be treating the dancers better.

When they finish eating, Rhonda pins him on the bench they’re sitting on and kisses him until a wolf whistle interrupts them. A couple of the dancers are standing in the doorway, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

One of the girls throws a thong at Rhonda and cackles, “Yes bitch, I knew you were a cougar!”

Rhonda laughs and tosses them back at her, and when she gets up from the bench Dean gets a very clear visual of the underwear she isn’t wearing.

Helplessly, he groans before pushing himself up.

A different girl is glaring at him and she looks pissed.

Oh, right, this is where they change.

Dean gets off the bench and offers them an apologetic smile, “Sorry ladies, I’ll just-“ He inches his way towards the door, keeping his eyes from the neck up and very obviously trying to avoid the mirrors that line the room. “I’m leaving now!”

“Oh hush kid, you’re fine,” an older dancer says from the long countertop that’s littered with make up bags and hair spray. “Janet’s just horny and jealous.”

Janet, the one who’d been glaring at him, tosses something at the other dancer, “Fuck off Roxy.”

Dean swings his eyes up to the ceiling when one girl comes through the door and immediately takes her top off, which apparently she hadn’t been wearing a bra under. He walks headfirst into the wall for his troubles.

This is both a dream and a nightmare, and Dean desperately wishes Rhonda had waited for him before going back out to clock in again.

He feels a hand settle on his arm and Dean jumps, opening his eyes at the contact.

Roxy’s smiling at him and now that they’re this close, Dean can see the Adam’s apple peeking out from her choker.

She squeezes his arm and winks, and for some reason Dean feels a little bit less out of his depth. Roxy opens the door for him, her smile kind as a hand settles on his lower back and pushes him out the door, “Go on, scoot. Rhonda’s probably looking for you.”

Dean returns the smile and nods before hightailing it out of there. The security guard they walked past to get in here gives him a dirty look, and Dean salutes him before heading back onto the floor.

He knows that Rhonda’s got another couple hours left on her shift, but he’s got nothing else to do tonight and he was kinda hoping they could continue what they were doing last night.

John’s not expecting him back from this job for at least another couple days.

Dean goes back to the stool at the far end of the bar and watches Rhonda some more, occasionally turns to watch the dancers when it’s a song he likes.

Strip clubs aren’t usually his thing, but Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy them. It’s just hard to get enough cash to come frequently, and if you don’t have cash to tip the dancers, you shouldn’t go to the club. It’s just good manners.

After what feels like a couple minutes but is probably almost an hour, Dean feels more than he sees somebody plop into the chair next to him.

Roxy’s grinning at him, her hair pulled up into a bun and most of her makeup gone now. One of her eyelashes is holding on for dear life and she’s got glitter stuck on her face, but honestly, Dean kinda prefers this look to the exaggerated eye make up she was wearing before.

“Hey cutie,” she greets him before waving down Rhonda. “You got nowhere else to be?”

Dean ducks his head with a laugh, shrugging, “Not really.”

She hums, pokes his leg with her boots, “You another one of Rhonda’s puppies?”

He’s assuming he makes a face because Roxy throws her head back and laughs, and it’s quite a sight to behold. It’s one of those laughs that makes everyone around it feel happy, makes them want to laugh and be in on the joke.

Roxy pats his hand as she calms down a little, “As in ‘follows her around like a lovesick puppy.’ Not puppyplay or anything like that.”

Rhonda finally brings a tall glass of something over for Roxy and laughs when she catches the tail end of that. “Oh Roxy, don’t scare the kid away. I was hoping he’d be around tonight when I get off.

Dean chokes on his club soda.

Roxy snickers, taking a sip of her Long Island iced tea, “Yeah I bet you are.”

Dean squirms in his seat and tries to laugh like he’s also in on the joke, and not like the almost 20 year old kid who’s uncomfortably turned on by this conversation that he actually is.

“I, uh...” He can feel how red his face probably is, and Dean’s just glad the lighting in here is so dim that neither one of them can see it.

Roxy lays off after that and asks Dean about his life. What’s he doing here, how’d he meet Rhonda, what’s a kid like him doing in a club like hers, etc etc. He answers the questions as honestly as he can and he returns the favor. He asks her how long she’s been working here, how long she’s been a dancer, how she met Rhonda, why she’s being so nice to him.

That one makes her laugh and she shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe because you looked like somebody who needed a friend. Maybe because I heard a couple of the girls talking about what they’d do to you, and honey, you’re not ready for them.”

Dean puffs up his chest a little bit and stuffs a fry into his mouth, “I could handle them!”

Roxy steals a fry from his plate and grins around it, “Oh yeah? You’ve been pegged before?”

The question catches him off guard and he almost choked on his next fry. Almost.

Rhonda comes over since it’s slow and leans across the bar to slap his back helpfully. “Well, he did try on my panties last night.” She grins at her friend and wiggles her eyebrows, “He ruined ‘em.”

Dean whines and hides his face in his hands, “You don’t have to broadcast it like that.”

Rhonda presses a kiss to the top of his head and chuckles, “Baby, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Roxy nods emphatically, poking him again with her foot, “Yeah, you think either one of us is gonna judge you?!”

She pokes him under he opens his hands up just enough to peek at her, “Dean, I’m a trans stripper. I don’t give a shit that you liked women’s panties.” Roxy smirks and finishes off the last sip of her drink, “Hell, I liked it so much I realized I was a woman.”

Rhonda laughs and runs a hand through Dean’s hair, “And you know I’m a kinky bitch. I wouldn’t care if you wanted to wear a full set.” She pulls his chin up with a finger so they’re eye to eye, and this time her grin makes it very clear what her intentions are. 

“I’d think that’s fucking hot.”

Dean whines despite himself, loud enough that that both of the women hear it over the music. 

Roxy chuckles, “I think you found his kink.”

The hand that’s been in his hair the whole time gently tugs until Dean looks at her again. 

Now Rhonda looks less like she wants to eat him, and more like she just wants to take care of him, “We could do that if you want.”

He wants to scream yes, kinda wants to cry about how much he wants that, but he just moans instead of saying any of that. He’s already embarrassingly hard in his pants and he’d do anything that they asked him to.

Roxy checks her watch and hops up with a yelp, “Oh shit, I’m gonna be late!”

Rhonda hums and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead before removing both of her hands. She tries not to laugh when he whines at the loss.

“Got a hot date Rox?”

She’s already off the stool and pulling her coat on to go outside, “Got an appointment next door. Jake’s gonna finish my tattoo.”

Something registers in Dean’s brain, his whole body peeking up, “Jake?” He turns so he’s facing Roxy, not caring enough to remember that she can probably see how hard he is through his jeans. Oops.

“Yeah...?” Roxy does him the courtesy of not mentioning it, but she definitely notices. “Why?”

Dean leans forward on the counter, “Tall? Super fucking hot? Brown eyes with enough green in them to almost look hazel?”

Absurdly, it feels a little hard to breathe.

Roxy grins at him, “Oh Jake? Definition of ‘Tall, Dark and Handsome’? That Jake?”

There’s obviously hundreds of tattoo artists named Jake across the country, and presumably a couple of them have to be beautiful. But they are in New York City, and Jake told him about his dream to open up a shop here.

Dean puts on his best puppy dog eyes, “Can I come?”

Rhonda pouts from behind the bar, “I thought you were going to come with me.” The double entendres is neither subtle, nor is it missed by Dean.

He turns and plants his feet on the railing at the bottom of the bar so that he can lean over the counter. He pulls Rhonda into a kiss, a pretty filthy kiss if he does say so himself, and only pulls back when he hears her whine.

Dean tries not to look too smug when he sits back down, but he can’t help be proud. Rhonda’s been making him dizzy the last two days, it’s about damn time he returns the favor.

“If it’s who I think it is, I’m pretty sure he’ll want to meet you.”

The mental image of Jake fucking him while Rhonda rides his face almost makes Dean’s knees give out when he finally stands.

Roxy groans next to them, tapping her feet impatiently, “Listen I love this for the both of you, but I’m gonna be late and I’ve been waiting for a year for this appointment-“

Dean nods, laughing a little before putting his own jacket back on, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Rhonda still doesn’t look especially thrilled with the change in events but she sighs and points at her friend, “You, take care of him. I still have plans for tonight.”

“Bye bitch!” Roxy cackles and grabs Dean’s hand, pulling him through the club and to the front door.

He offers Rhonda a weak smile and wave as they go. He’s coming back here no matter what, anyways. But he’s curious.

The doormen at the front of the club open the doors for the two of them, and the frigid winter air calms down the situation in his jeans.

Roxy doesn’t let go of his hand as they step out into the crowd of people. It’s gotta be like 2, maybe 2:30 in the morning, but it’s a Saturday night and this street has some bars and the club and a 24 hour bodega on it and it’s crowded.

Dean lets himself be pulled through the crowd, sneaking closer to Roxy when a gust of wind blows his coat open. Hers is a big, almost full length faux fur coat, and it blocks enough of the wind to keep Dean warm.

She laughs when she feels how close he is, “It’s just around the corner, we’re almost there.”

They elbow their way through a group of tourists and finally, they turn down what Dean thought was an alley. It might be, but there’s a neon sign hanging on the side of the building halfway down the alley.

Finally Roxy lets go of his hand since there’s nobody else down here, and she takes off on a slight run. Dean laughs and jogs after her, “Where’s the fire?”

“Inside, with central heating and everything!”

The door creaks when it opens and Dean laughs loud and long, throwing his head back with it. He steps in after her, the warm air overtaking him immediately, and he takes a second to look around as the door shuts.

It’s definitely small, but it’s... Dean doesn’t really know how to describe it.

It’s your standard tattoo studio, with flash artwork on the walls, some portfolio’s sitting on a coffee table, a desk off to the side and a couch that’s seen better days. But there’s something about it that feels familiar, feels almost homey.

Maybe it’s the candle burning on the front desk, or the dog toys that are thrown over the little waiting area, or the music playing in the background, but it feels like he’s been here before.

“Anybody home?!” Roxy calls out, shrugging her jacket off and dropping it on the sofa.

A petite woman who can’t be much older than Dean, if not the same age, comes out from the little hallway that’s off to the side.

“Oh hey Roxy,” she grins and comes up to hug her before going over to the desk. Her name tag says Alex, and Dean watches kinda awkwardly from the side, feeling like he’s intruding in some way.

“Let me just pull up your stuff and I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Another voice calls out from a little further away, and Dean stops breathing.

“Is that Miss Roxy I hear?!”

Dean feels like the air is getting sucked out of the room with each footstep that gets closer and closer to them. For half a second he wonders if it’s possible that he’s wrong, that this isn’t his Jake, and then -

Jake comes out into the front room and is greeted with all 6’1” of Roxy throwing herself into his arms for a hug. He laughs and manages to catch her, returning it, and Dean can tell the exact moment that Jake sees him.

He’s just as beautiful as Dean remembers, but now he’s... hot.

Somehow Jake seems taller than the 6’5” Dean remembers, and he’s put on a ton of muscle. He’s got more tattoos now and more than a couple piercings in his face, and his hair is curly and a blue that pops against his skin.

He looks  good .

Roxy seems to finally notice the change in the room and she pulls back from the hug, looking back and forth in between the two of them.

She levels Dean with a smirk, arching an eyebrow at him, “I take it this is him?”

Dean swallows once, twice and finally licks his lips, nothing gets his voice to work. He nods.

Jake laughs a little bit but it comes out more strangled than anything, and Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t feel oddly smug to know that he’s not the only one struggling here.

“He talk about me?”

Jake looks somewhere between shocked and hurt, and Dean resists the urge to tuck tail and run.

“I, uh...” He licks his lips again and offers him a small smile, “I was hoping it was you.”

I’m sorry , he wants to say.  I wanted to say goodbye, but he wouldn’t let me. I really did care about you, I’m sorry I broke your heart .

Judging by the smile he gets in return, Jake must get some of that.

“It’s good to see you,” Jake says after a couple beats. Dean’s shoulders relax at that, and his smile doesn’t feel quite so forced anymore, “Yeah. You too.”

Roxy clears her throat in between them, snapping them out of it.

Jake laughs sheepishly and refocuses his attention on her. “My apologies, I, uh...”

Roxy rolls her eyes and pats his cheek, “Yeah yeah, you’re a sucker for a pretty face. We know.”

He laughs again and nods, leading Roxy back to his little room in the back of the shop. Dean watches them go, a little dumbstruck, until Alex clears her throat from the desk.

Blushing, he looks over at her apologetically, “Hi, sorry.” He steps forward and offers her a hand, “Dean.”

Alex smiles at him but doesn’t take the hand, “You can follow them if you want.”

Dean hesitates, pulling his hand back into his pocket, “Ah... I don’t want to intrude or anything.” Alex levels him with a look that clearly communicates how little she cares about whatever crisis Dean’s having, “Well you can wait up here if you want but I’m done for the day and you’ll be up here alone.”

Before he has to say anything, Roxy comes back into the waiting room and grabs his hand, “For fuck’s sake kid, how’re you gonna get in his pants if you don’t come back here?!”

He lets himself be pulled again and offers Alex a wave as she leaves.

The hallway is very small, and there’s 3 little sectioned off... calling them rooms feels generous, given that there’s hardly any room to move around in them. The two smaller rooms on one side have the tables shoved up against the far wall, and a small built in desk facing the front. They both have tiny, tiny sinks in them and neither has a full sized trash can. They feel more like moderately large closets than rooms.

The room that Roxy pulls him into, however, looks like the other two but with the middle wall knocked down.

Dean stops in the doorway and his chest feels a little tight as he looks around.

The walls are covered in certificates, doodles, posters and pictures. Instead of another desk on the front wall, there’s a small bookshelf and chair that look warm and well loved. Deans recognizes one of the books right away. 

The desk at the far wall has the most pictures hung up above it, and Dean gravitates over to it without meaning to.

There’s a picture of Jake posing next to someone’s leg, and Dean realizes that’s probably his first tattoo he did. He looks just like Dean remembers him. There’s a framed professional photograph, of Jake and a couple of other people posing like total badasses.

Another picture, this one of Jake, Cameron and their little sister Ali at Cameron’s high school graduation.

A Polaroid is propped up next to that one, and Dean lets out a shuttering breath when he realizes it’s the picture he took of the two of them together in bed.

“Don’t worry,” a quiet voice murmurs right next to his ear. Dean shudders, his eyes closing.

Jake chuckles, the breaths ghosting over Dean’s neck, “I haven’t been pining for you this whole time. I just really like the picture.”

Dean smiles, turning just enough to make eye contact, “We look happy.”

Jake’s smile is sad, but he shrugs. “We were.”

He squeeze’s Dean’s hip before going over to Roxy on the table and showing her the mock-up of what he wants to do today.

Dean tunes out the happy squealing and subsequent chatter, going over to sit on the chair in the far corner.

John had been furious when he picked Dean up from Sonny’s. By some small miracle, he’d had the forethought to drop Sam off with uncle Bobby while Dean was gone and he remembers being furious with his dad right back.

They’d gotten into a fight right there in Sonny’s front yard, one of the very few Dean’s ever had with his dad, and the only reason he got in the car was because John pulled a gun on Sonny. Sonny had shoved John away when he threw Dean against the Impala, yelling something about calling the cops - Dean doesn’t remember much after that, he’d hit his head pretty hard.

But he remembers the click dad’s gun had made when John pulled it out.

Dean had to shove John back towards the other side of the Impala, screaming at him to fucking get in the car over the sound of Sam crying in the backseat. The screaming got even worse when John started yelling at Sam.

He didn’t talk to John for a week after that.

It didn’t matter, not really anyways, because they’d just driven to the next case and John had left them again. He gave Dean $50 and told him not to get arrested again. He was gone for about two weeks.

Their motel was right across the street from a truck stop and sometimes, Dean wonders if John did that on purpose.

Dean was pissed for a long time when he got back from Sonny’s. Mostly at his dad, but he spent a long time being furious with himself.

It made sense why John dropped Sam off with Bobby. He was too young to be on his own (Dean snorts at that thought) and John needed childcare. But Dean was pissed that he’d never thought about that himself, that if he wasn’t around anymore, John would have to leave Sammy there.

Except, that probably wouldn’t have lasted for very long.

Now that Dean’s been hunting on his own for a while now, he knows that usually Sam just gets dropped in a motel room and left alone while him and John are gone. He hates it, hates leaving Sam alone for so long, but he’s 15 now and any day now he’ll be taller than Dean.

The only good thing that came out of the whole shitshow, as far as Dean is concerned, is that John hasn’t laid a hand on Sam in years.

The sound of the gun powering on startles him back to reality, and Dean glances over at the table. Roxy’s shirt is off now and Dean yelps when he realizes her boobs are out.

Both of them chuckle as Dean scrambles to look anywhere else.

“Kid, it’s fine, you can look,” Roxy snorts, taking very shallow breaths. “I paid a lot of money for these tits, please, enjoy them.”

Dean hums nervously, his eyes focusing on a poster by the door, “Um, I’m good. Maybe later.”

She groans loudly on the table, “Oh my god, you’ve been so cool this whole time, I didn’t think you’d care.” She sounds disappointed in him and like she’s challenging him to something. 

He’s not sure what, but it definitely feels like he’s being challenged.

“Hey!” He huffs, elbowing her foot gently, “I’m super cool. The coolest. I’m just trying to be a damn gentleman!”

Roxy rolls her eyes, “Jake, tell him it’s fine.”

He snorts, never taking his eyes off of her chest, “Seriously Dean, she doesn’t care. They’re great tits.”

“Awww,” Roxy really hams it up with a baby talk voice. “Isn’t he the sweetest.”

Dean contemplates it for a moment before deciding it’s not creepy if she’s encouraging him to look. In fact, it would be rude not to look.

After all, she did pay good money for them.

Finally, Dean stands up and walks over to stand near them and looks.

Roxy takes the opportunity of Jake leaning over to get more ink to gasp and cover her chest with her arms, “Dean, don’t be a pervert!”

He squawks and flicks her elbow, “You told me to look!”

“Again,” Jake sighs, turning to look at Roxy tiredly. “You could’ve kept your shirt on. Or I’ve got a blanket that you can cover them up with.”

She hums like she’s considering it for a second before shrugging and laying her arms down again. “You boys are so sensitive, it’s like you’ve never seen tits before.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Or we just don’t want to be creeps.”

Roxy seems unconcerned, ignoring him, “Anyways kid, what do you think of the ink?”

He hesitates for just a moment before looking again, this time out of curiosity more than anything. Dean bites his lip so he doesn’t audibly gasp, but he wants to.

“Yeah,” Roxy sighs, though she sounds unbothered still. “Pretty sick, right?”

For a moment, Dean considers reaching out and touching them but that’s definitely crossing over the creepy line. 

Jake’s working just under her breasts, tattooing some sort of lace design to frame them on her rib cage, but Dean’s stuck on the actual breasts themselves.

Instead of nipples, or obvious nipples at least, her aereolas are flowers. These beautiful peony blooms in such vibrant colors and perfect shading, that they almost look real.

“They’re...” Dean huffs a quiet, breathy laugh, “Yeah, pretty bitchin.” He looks at Jake, careful not to bump him, “He do these?”

Roxy grins at him, wiggling her eyebrows, “Bingo.”

She sighs, relaxing against the table again, “Doctor fucked it up, transphobic piece of shit, and I had to walk around with ugly tits for a couple years.” Her voice goes a little wistful, “And then Rhonda was like ‘Hey sis, why don’t you just cover up those scars with a dope tattoo’?”

“And she found me,” Jake chimes in, the smile audible in his voice. “The rest is history.”

“Your boy here does a lot of healing,” she continues. “I told some of my friends about Jake, showed them my beautiful new fixed tits and turns out I wasn’t the only girl at the club with some scars. He owns this shop because of us.”

Jake snorts, wiping the spot he was just working on, “I thought it was all because of you. You trying to make Dean think you’re humble or something?”

Roxy squawks and Dean laughs, a real laugh, before going over to sit in the chair again.

The two of them bicker back and forth about how they met, how Roxy brought him enough clientele that he was able to buy this little shop with one of the other artists from his old place and become a business owner at 21.

Finally they settle on it being a group effort, with Roxy being the catalyst.

And then she asks the question Dean had been hoping she wouldn’t.

“So, how do you two know each other?”

Dean laughs and says, “I was one of his first clients” at the same time Jake says, “He broke my heart.”

And damn, Dean knew it, but it hurts hearing it said out loud.

“His little brother introduced us,” Dean sighs after a moment of self flagellation. “Jake... was my first kiss.”

Jake’s shoulders are tense when he asks, “Why’d you leave?”

Dean shrinks in on himself, desperately wanting to run away, “Jake, can we...” He winces, “Can we talk about this later?”

Nobody says anything for a little while, but Jake does tell Roxy to turn up the volume on the stereo for him.

They’re quiet for about an hour, maybe longer, Dean’s not really sure, until Roxy groans and taps the table with her hand.

“Uncle, I call uncle!”

Jake laughs, turning the gun off for a moment, “You need a break?”

She whines and pushes herself up carefully. “Please, a bitch did not get drunk enough to sit through all of this straight through.”

He chuckles again and sets everything down safely before taking his gloves off to help her get on her feet safely. Roxy pulls her shirt down with his help and looks back and forth between the two of them for a second.

“Okay boys, I’m gonna go have a cigarette. Nobody kill anybody.”

Dean offers her a sheepish smile and a salute, “Yes ma’am.” Jake snorts, shaking his head, “No promises.”

Roxy kisses his cheek before going back out to the waiting area and then it’s another couple seconds before they hear the telltale tinkling of the door opening and closing.

For a full minute, they’re just staring at each other while some stupid top 40’s song plays in the background.

It’s Dean that breaks first.

“I’m sure you hate me...” he looks down at his hands, frowning, “I didn’t want to leave.”

Jake huffs, shifting on his feet, “So why did you?”

Dean sighs, rolling his head back to rest against the wall behind him,“Did Sonny tell you what happened?”

He doesn’t bother to look when he hears the chair creak with a body sitting on it again.

“Yeah. He said your dad picked you up.”

Dean snorts, bitter, “We got into a screaming match in Sonny’s driveway. Dad gave me a concussion and Sonny tried to help me, but my dad...” His head falls forward, looking at Jake’s shoulder instead of his face, “He pulled a gun on him. Threatened to shoot him if he touched me again. My brother was crying in the backseat and I practically had to shove dad back into the car to get him to leave.”

Part of Dean, he doesn’t say, had figured John would just leave him there if he fought back. That Sammy would get to go back to Bobby’s and be a normalish kid for once in his life.

He was surprised when John threw him into the car and drove off.

“I wanted to say goodbye,” he tries again, hoping it’s obvious how sincere he is. “But I just... couldn’t.”

Jake just looks sad, and Dean groans, covering his face with his hands.

“No, don’t do that, don’t feel bad for me.”

He shrugs, shifting in the chair, “Who said I feel bad for you?”

Dean snorts, “Your face did.”

The room is quiet for a moment and then it’s filled with the sound of wheels rolling across the floor. Strong knees bump into his, and Dean opens his eyes reluctantly.

“Are you okay?” Jake sounds way too damn earnest for somebody that Dean hurt.

Because he’s Dean, and he’s not very good at this, he just shrugs and offers him an empty grin.

“I’m fine, man. I’m always fine.”

It sounds like bullshit even to his own ears, and he hates that he’s worked so hard to file all of this shit from when he was sixteen away. And then he’s here with this boy, this beautiful boy who treated Dean like he was worth something, and suddenly he feels like blushing virgin all over again.

Jake doesn’t believe him, but he does set a hand on his thigh and squeezes it.

“What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”

He was always so good at giving Dean an out. It makes him want to kiss that look off of his face.

“Right now?” He grins, this time more sincere, “Waiting for this girl to get done with work so we can go back to her place.”

Jake snorts, his shoulders shaking with contained laughter, “One of Roxy’s friends?”

Dean’s grin widens, “You know Rhonda?”

An impressed look passes over Jake’s face and he whistles, “ Wow. You and Rhonda?”

“Yup.” He pops the p without thinking about it. 

Dean doesn’t realize it until Jake’s other hand settles on his other knee, but this whole time his legs have been slowly opening wider and wider.

Subconscious desires, blah blah, Dean can’t stop thinking about that mental image that popped into his head at the club.

“Hey,” he says instead, a memory giving him an idea. He leans up a little bit, not even flinching when their faces are very close now, and reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.

Dean smirks, looking away for a second, and pulling out his last $20 from his wallet.

“What’ll this get me for a tattoo?”

Jake lets out a breath, like he’d been holding it that whole time, and finally laughs, sounding a little nervous.

“Uh...” he leans back, running a hand through his hair, “Something small. A flash maybe?”

Dean nods, slapping his thighs before pushing himself up, “Tell you what. I’m gonna go get Rhonda and uh...” He doesn’t try to stop himself from flirting this time, and pulls Jake’s chin up with two fingers.

He licks his lips when their eyes meet, “Maybe the three of us can do something?”

He’s not exactly being subtle, and judging by how dark his eyes get, Jake’s picking up every hint he’s dropping. “What about your $20?”

Dean grins, full flirting mode, “I was thinking about a lipstick on my ass.”

Surprisingly, that just makes his pupils a little more lustblown, “Yeah? I could do that.”

Roxy comes back into the room then and she stops in the doorway, whistling at the scene laid out in front of her.

“Should I come back later boys?”

Jake licks his lips before turning to look at her, “No ma’am, Dean was just leaving.”

He smiles, feigning apologetic, “I told Rhonda I’d walk her home from work, and she’s almost done.”

A look of understanding flashes over Roxy’s face and she wiggles her eyebrows at him, “You do that honey.”

* * *

The next morning Dean wakes up in Jake’s bed, snuggled in between two beautiful humans. His ass is sore for more than one reason, and the panties he wore last night are still tangled around his ankles.

He always did like New York. 


	4. dice on the upper thigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s… tacky. To say the least.
> 
> Right there in the V where his thigh and his groin/dick area meet, are now a pair of dice etched into his skin for… forever. Eugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna have to reorder these chapters at some point because I didn't realize that Dean was 20 when he hooked up with Lisa and wow, canon Dean had a busy couple years there - Rhonda at 19, Lisa at 20, Cassie somewhere between 20 and 23. So if you're reading this and it isn't chapter 7, it's because I reordered them lol. 
> 
> Anyways, there's no real warnings here, except for maybe infected tattoos, the word tits (I hate saying it or typing it but 20 year old Dean would 100% say tits), and Lisa hooking up with another dude? Like it's fine though, there's no love lost or whatever, but just. y'know. It happens.

Dean met Lisa on a hunt outside of Las Vegas.

Here she is, this incredible yoga instructor who looks like she walked out of Dean’s wet dreams and makes Dean laugh, runs her fingers through Dean’s hair, lets him cook for her… she’s perfect. She’s everything he could’ve ever asked for at 20.

(She’s everything he could ask for at 30 and 40 and so forth, but we digress.)

But the case has been wrapped up for a couple days now, and John’s starting to blow up his pager with questions about what’s taking so long.

Last night, that didn’t matter though, because they went out with Lisa’s coworkers and they were all three sheets to the wind and Dean couldn’t even see straight.

He thinks it’s Candy who suggested going into the sketchy looking shop at the end of the strip, but later Dean has no real recollection of the whole night.

He’s standing in front of the full-length mirror in Lisa’s room, naked as the day he was born, and gaping at the ugly, kinda infected looking tattoo he apparently got last night.

It’s… tacky. To say the least.

Right there in the V where his thigh and his groin/dick area meet, are now a pair of dice etched into his skin for… forever. Eugh.

Dean scrunches up his face, stepping closer to the mirror to get a better look at them.

They’re like, a classic style but they look like some drunk kid did them. The lines aren’t even straight and the markers on the dice aren’t even circles. He hates them.

On top of that, the skin is swollen and puffy looking and god, Dean hopes that guy changed the needle in between appointments. He knows he’s gonna die young, but he’d rather it be because he did something cool, like save somebody’s life.

Not because he’s an idiot and got drunk and let some ex-sorority girl talk him into a sketchy tattoo.

Lisa groans from her place on the bed, rolling onto her stomach and stretching.

Dean watches, transfixed, as her hair moves over her back and the leopard spots that go from Lisa’s lower back up to her shoulder stretch. He loves those spots.

Lisa makes the cute little squeaky noise that Dean’s heard every morning for the last week, the one that means the full body stretch worked and she’s feeling good and loose.

He doesn’t say anything, but he does crawl back onto the bed over her and presses kisses onto every leopard spot he can see. There are a couple that dip onto her butt that he misses, because he’s a little too out of his head to commit to that right now, but he doesn’t stop until he’s pressing kisses into her hair. She’s laughing under him, a hand reaching up to settle at the back of his head, “Good morning to you too…”

Dean hums and presses an opened mouth kiss to the shell of her ear, “Sleep good?”

She nods, not answering, before turning over so that they can kiss properly now. Dean whines into the kiss, all of his senses on fire, but he gives as good as he gets.

It doesn’t take very long before Dean feels a hand sneaking down the sheets and regrettably, he pulls away from the kiss with a hiss when Lisa’s ring brushes over the tattoo. She freezes, startled, both hands immediately coming up to his cheeks, “Did I hurt you?”

If he was a better man Dean would lie and say no, but yeah, the tattoo is definitely infected and that small little brush from her ring made his vision blackout for a second.

“Hurts more than I thought it would,” he grumbles, definitely not pouting, and nuzzles into her hands.

Lisa’s snort is definitely not ladylike, but it makes something in Dean’s chest squeeze with a feeling you can’t feel in a week.

“Oh you poor baby,” she teases, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Need me to take a look at it?”

There was definitely sex on the table this morning and Dean bites back the complaints that this isn’t fair, he can only stay for like one more day, and it’s ruined because her stupid friend did this.

Well. Because Dean was also stupid, and got drunk and did a stupid thing, but, y’know. Sad.

Dean nods before sighing, “Yeah, actually… might need to go to a free clinic or something.”

Lisa kisses both of his cheeks, using that leverage of her arms around his neck to roll them over. And damn, Dean really hates her stupid friend who suggested this.

Lisa is… gorgeous. Not just hot, but like – stunning.

And not to be crude or anything but she’s got some of the best tits Dean’s ever seen.

The way she’s leaning over him, her arms framing his head and her legs framing his hips, leaves them right at the perfect place to do some… _things_ to them.

Lisa laughs, bright and loud and way too perky for this early in the morning, when she realizes that Dean can’t stop staring at them. “Hey,” she laughs, pulling his head up with one finger under his chin, “My eyes are up here.”

Dean grins, charming as ever, but the wiggle of his eyebrows ruins it.

“Yeah but your boobs are right here.”

She snorts, a hand coming up to pat his cheek, “Hold your horses there, big man.”

Lisa rolls off of him and Dean barely resists the urge to grab her by her hips and yank her back into bed. It would make her squeal with laughter, and he knows from experience, lead to some really great sex.

But like… the tattoo is starting to throb and he’d rather not die today if it can be avoided.

She stops long enough to pull Dean’s t-shirt on before going out into the main room of the apartment to get the first aid kit.

One of her roommates makes eye contact with Dean through the crack in the door and whistles, long and low, and he can feel how red his whole face gets. It makes her (Denise?) cackle.

“Lis!” He yelps, pulling a pillow over his half hard dick that’s just laying out for anyone to see apparently, and yelps again when the pillow brushes the tattoo.

Seriously, he’s gotta find out whose idea this was and then like… pop a tire or something.

Lisa smacks her roommate’s head as she walks past the couch and blessedly closes the door behind her with a loud thud.

Neither one of them really says anything while Lisa cleans the tattoo off, especially not after Dean says he doesn’t care if it’s going to fuck up the tattoo, he just wants it to stop hurting.

(Later, he will regret that plea when the ink bleeds together much faster than it would’ve.)

She does her best to cover it enough that Dean can wear jeans safely, and somehow that turns into Dean lazily fingering her until she comes riding his thigh.

He doesn’t let her reciprocate though, partly because he feels guilty that he’s going to have to leave tomorrow, and partly because he’s kinda scared she’s going to touch it in the middle and then –

He’s got enough kinks to deal with, Dean isn’t really interested in a pain kink too.

If anybody could talk him into it though, it’d probably be Lisa.

So while she showers, Dean gets himself mostly cleaned off and in some clothes that don’t make it obvious he’s spent the last week having sex almost exclusively.

“Hey Lis,” he yells into the bathroom without opening the door. “I’m gonna go get some antibiotics, kay?” Lisa yells something back that Dean can’t hear, but he’s pretty sure she just said okay, so he doesn’t bother waiting.

The clinic is definitely one of the nicer ones that Dean has been to, and he doesn’t even get the gentle bullying that he’s used to from the nurses. It’s easy, the doctor comes in, checks it out, cleans it up a little better for him and gives him a shot in the ass to jumpstart the antibiotics when she hears what shop he went to.

She also reups him on his tetanus shot, because, y’know, can’t ever be too safe.

Lisa’s apartment is quiet when he gets back. The girls have left the door unlocked for him this week so that he can come and go as he needs, and now is no different.

“Babe?” Dean calls out, dropping the Impala’s keys on the counter, “Wanna go get lunch after I get my antibiotics?”

He kicks his boots off and walks over to Lisa’s bedroom, pushing the door open and –

Oh.

Lisa doesn’t see him, and, well… Dean can’t really blame her.

There’s another guy in Lisa’s bed. There’s another guy, having sex with Lisa, and Dean just left an hour ago, how the fuck did she –

He stops and backs out of the doorway, quietly, tamping down all the emotions that he’s feeling in that moment.

He’s jealous, sure, but also, he doesn’t have any ground to stand on here. He can’t be jealous.

And he was planning on leaving tomorrow morning, probably when Lisa was still sleeping, so, like… what if he just left right now?

Dean talks himself into it, reluctantly, toeing his shoes back on and grabbing his coat while trying not to make any noise. He does stop to leave her a note, but it’s quick and succinct and he tries not to be as bitter in it as he wants to be.

_Lis, I gotta leave. Sorry. Hope you had fun with him. See you later. – Dean_

* * *

The night before they go to fight the devil, Castiel gets wasted with Ellen and Jo. Dean watches them from his place in Bobby’s study, his chest tight with an overwhelming sense of fondness and fear. In such a short amount of time, Dean went from two people he counted as family to five, and not all of them are going to make it back from this fight.

Sam gets up and swaps places with Cas at some point, and his angel stumbles over to Dean. He doesn’t so much sit as flops down onto the sofa next to Dean, and it would be obnoxious if Dean wasn’t so gone on him.

As it stands, he snorts and scoots over to make room for Cas, “You wasted or something?”

Castiel hums, almost swaying in place, “Not quite.”

Dean smiles from behind his whiskey tumbler before taking a sip. “Coulda fooled me.”

He bumps Castiel’s knee with his own and tries not to flinch too much when Cas’ knee stays there.

They’re quiet, listening to the arguing in the kitchen over the rules of flip cup for a while. Bobby’s snoring quietly at his desk, the adrenaline of the planning long since run out for him.

Dean hums, taking the last sip of his whiskey and asks, “Hey, Cas?”

Castiel’s head does an impressive roll almost 360 degrees to turn and look at him, “Yes?”

Because he’s maybe kinda drunk, and probably gonna die tomorrow, Dean’s a little reckless and runs a hand through Castiel’s hair. It’s softer than he’d ever imagined it would be.

“Why didn’t you keep the dice when you resurrected me?”

He knows that Cas rebuilt him from the ground up when he was raised from Hell, and he’s always been curious. Every other tattoo is untouched and hell, they all look just as good as the first day he got them.

But the dice were gone and Dean’s curious, he just – he didn’t know how to ask.

Castiel’s face scrunches up into something that can only be described as disgust.

“They were an abomination, Dean. Almost as bad as Sam.”

And Dean laughs, for the first time since that night at the brothel, long and loud and real. His hand is still in Castiel’s hair and he pretends his heart doesn’t do a flip flop when Castiel smiles at the laugh.

Fuck, he hopes they don’t die tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also yeah yeah, I know, s15 Cas would not call Sam an abomination but listen, I genuinely think "sam of course is an abomination" is one of Castiel's best lines in the whole show. the delivery, the tone, the reaction from the brothers, it's just [chef's kiss] everything I love about him. and that scene is supposed to be in s5 (s6?) when ellen and jo die (rip, the real mvp's). you know the episode. no, I won't go look up the title because my head hurts. 
> 
> anyways, thank you so much for the comments friends!!! it really means a lot to me. pls feed my fragile ego lol


	5. cherries on his ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I still think this is bullshit,” he grumbles, only loud enough for Cassie to hear over the music. She snorts and leans down, pressing a kiss to his head.
> 
> “Nobody likes a sore loser, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here’s the cherries I’m imagining](%E2%80%9C)

It’s Cassie’s fault really, if we’re being honest.

At least, that’s what Dean tells himself when he lays down on the tattoo artists’s table.

“I still think this is bullshit,” he grumbles, only loud enough for Cassie to hear over the music. She snorts and leans down, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Nobody likes a sore loser, babe.”

Cassie sounds like she wants to pull Dean into a closet and do things with him and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine.

The artist throws some water on his ass cheek and Dean yelps, turning around to glare at her.

She just grins and snaps her gum at him, “Sorry honey, thought it would be warmer.” She doesn’t look sorry, nor does Dean believe her assurances.

Her name is Dani and if Dean wasn’t madly in love with the woman currently holding his hand, he would be flirting up a storm. She’s exactly his type.

Instead of saying or doing anything about that, Dean lays his head back down and pouts up at Cassie.

“You owe me,” he grumbles.

She doesn’t say anything, but her grin goes from amused to shit eating in .05 seconds flat. Dean wants to kiss that smug look off her face.

The razor making quick work of his hair back there makes Dean yelp, and Cassie has to hold him down so he doesn’t flinch.

“Careful honey,” Dani hums but doesn’t stop her work. “Don’t want to be flinching when I’m workin back here.” She pats his other ass cheek gently, leaning over to grab the alcohol to clean the newly hairless spot off.

“I’d hate to mess up this ass.”

Cassie snickers, running a hand through Dean’s hair, “We appreciate that.”

For all the badass shit Dean’s done in his life, he’s pretty sure that the women sitting in this room with him could kill him and get away with it. He’s oddly okay with this.

His eyes close when he feels Cassie’s nails dragging over his scalp and he doesn’t even try to muffle the pleased sound he makes.

“He likes hair stuff?” Dani snaps her gum, but Dean tunes out their voices.

They made a bet a couple days ago, that Cassie was going to get this internship she had applied to. Dean had bet that she would get it, Cassie had been sure she wouldn’t. He’s new to this whole boyfriend thing, but he wanted to be supportive and he wanted Cassie to know how much he believed in her.

So, he’d bet the most absurd thing he could think of.

She failed to mention that she was so sure she wasn’t going to get the internship because it was for college seniors.

And yeah, Dean kinda thinks this is bullshit.

Honestly, he doesn’t mind.

“Ok honey, I’m gonna start now.”

He hums, leaning his head up into Cassie’s hand where it had stopped moving for a moment.

The first touch of the needle happens at the same time that Cassie starts running her fingers through his hair again, and Dean barely even notices the slight pain.

It’s been a couple of years since he got his other tattoos, and idly Dean wonders how Jake is doing.

Periodically, when he sees those magazines in gas stations and libraries, he flips through them to see if he’s made it yet. Dean has no doubt in his mind that one day he’s going to be an artist that people travel from around the world for an appointment with.

Cassie had been intrigued when Dean finally confessed that his first kiss had actually been with a dude. She asked a lot of questions, but she never made Dean feel weird or embarrassed about it. She thought it was kinda hot that she could point out hot guys when they went out, and Dean would rate them with her.

It took a lot of convincing that it was okay, but eventually Dean also started pointing out hot girls too. Cassie really liked that. And hell, Dean did too. It was nice to have a partner who didn’t really care about gender either.

It also helps that Cassie is the first person he’s ever admitted it out loud to.

His butt is starting to get that pleasant numb feeling that he likes (whether it’s from vibrations or... other stuff, he’s not picky).

“Hey,” Cassie whispers, pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear. “You falling asleep on me Winchester?”

Dean hums, maybe purrs, and tries to shake his head. Nothing happens because he very much is about to fall asleep.

He hears her laugh, but then her fingers go back to moving through his hair again and Dean finds it harder to care if he passes out.

He dozes off for a little bit, the comfort of gentle touches more soothing than he’d care to admit. He’s not sure if it’s ten minutes or an hour that passes, but eventually somebody’s squeezing his hip and shaking him gently.

Dean whines and peeks an eye open, “What?” He definitely doesn’t slur the word at all.

Cassie’s smiling at him, and it’s her real smile, that same one Dean gets to see when they wake up in the morning. He’s tired enough to ignore the way it makes his heart constrict.

“Hey handsome,” she hums, a finger brushing over his cheekbone. “Time to wake up.”

Dean huffs and snuffles closer into her hand, “Don’ wanna.”

Dani’s laugh from the end of the table makes Dean push himself up on his elbows to glare at her. He just looks cute instead of menacing. His hair is flat on one side and he has a line on his face from the stitching of the chair. It’s adorable.

She pats his calf gently, “Come on kiddo, I got another client waiting.”

That does remind him that they aren’t back at Cassie’s place, they’re in a tattoo shop and Dean knocked out in the middle of an appointment. Figures.

He tries to get up normally, but Dani ends up helping him so that he doesn’t drag the newly cleaned and tattooed skin across the table.

“Check it out,” she helps him over to a mirror. “Looks pretty good if I say so myself.”

Dean turns his head and snorts when he sees it.

They’re just a little flash tattoo from the front counter, nothing special, but Cassie had laughed for five minutes when she picked it out.

He turns around to glare at her, but there’s no heat in it. He thinks it’s pretty funny too.

“You always have liked my cherry ass, babe.”

Cassie cackles and kisses him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

It’s kinda perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subtle references to saltyfeathers aka Nicole’s au from a couple years ago which was when the headcanon for this tattoo emerged. 🥰


	6. the coordinates of the house in lawrence on his wrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night Sam leaves for Stanford, Dean gets blackout drunk and sleeps in his car.
> 
> John doesn’t bother looking for him, but he does threaten to shoot Dean when he stumbles back to their motel room in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: sex work mention, John is physically and verbally abusive, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, self-worth issues, etc etc. also sam is eighteen and teenagers are really mean assholes when they want to be, but he didn’t mean it so don’t hate him. Or do, whatever.

The night Sam leaves for Stanford, Dean gets blackout drunk and sleeps in his car.

John doesn’t bother looking for him, but he does threaten to shoot Dean when he stumbles back to their motel room in the morning. He yells something about being irresponsible and failing someone, but Dean is probably still a little drunk and he doesn’t listen.

He flops down face first on his bed and groans, long and low. John tosses something at him and Dean can’t even be bothered to try and move away from it.

It’s a gun and it hits his shoulder, and that’s going to leave a bruise.

“God damn it Dean,” John growls, shoving shit in his bag. “You had one fucking job boy, looking out for your brother and you did such a stellar job with it he fucking left.”

Dean should argue, but it’s not like he hasn’t spent all night thinking the same thing.

The room goes quiet for a moment and then John slaps him hard across the back of his head.

He yelps, rolling over and pretending that the room isn’t spinning again, “Dad, what the fuck?!”

“I’m talking to you, boy,” John snaps.

“Jesus,” Dean groans and pushes himself upright, pressing a hand to the back of his head. “What the fuck did you hit me with?”

His hand comes away with some blood on it and he has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t throw up. He can guess what John hit him with, with probably some startling accuracy, but his head is throbbing too much to even think about arguing. 

John drops a bag on his legs, ignoring the question, “Come on son, get up, we got a job.”

Dean scowls, hoping dad will leave him alone, “Yeah and I’ve got a fucking concussion, give me a minute.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, it’s totally asking for it, but Dean doesn’t care. He failed everybody he cares about, John would probably be doing everyone a favor if he just killed him right here and right now. 

Dean wishes that’s what he did. 

Instead, John just sneers at him, disgust clear on his face, “Pathetic.”

Any other day, Dean would be up and puttering around, getting himself packed to go. Any other day Dean would have the energy to care more about his safety, but he kinda wants to die anyways. 

“Back at ya,” he scoffs before flipping back over. 

Dean closes his eyes, silently begging John to just fucking leave him alone so he can grieve in peace. 

The sound of John cocking his gun makes Dean’s back go ramrod straight. 

“Get. Up.”

Dean holds his breath, counts to five and then pushes himself up onto his elbows. He glares at John over his shoulder, gritting his teeth, “ Fine .”

John tucks the gun back into his waistband and yanks his bag off of Dean’s legs. 

“You got two minutes.”

He storms out of the room after that, not waiting for an answer or acknowledgement. The door slams shut so hard behind him that it makes the picture frames that are bolted to the wall shake behind him. 

Somewhere in the back of his brain, Dean idly hopes that his dad will fall victim to something in between the room and the car. 

He pushes himself up off the bed, groaning again as the whole room shifts around him. He stumbles over to the foot of the bed and grabs his duffle, throwing everything he can find into it. He’s probably forgetting something, but it’s whatever, he’ll figure something out. 

When he stumbles out of the motel room he winces at the sunlight, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes. 

John’s truck isn’t even out here anymore. 

Dean grumbles, stumbling over to the Impala and tossing his bag into the trunk. 

It takes him a couple tries to get the drivers side door open and when he flops down into the seat, he finally sees the cup of coffee and motel stationary sitting on the dashboard. 

He snorts, feeling equally amused and furious, because of course John just wanted an excuse to ditch him. 

“Unfucking believable, John,” he sighs, grabbing the note first. 

It just has some coordinates on it and a name. Asshole didn’t even sign it. 

He should just go back into the room and crash for at least the rest of the day - he’s still kinda drunk and he’s pretty sure he has a mild concussion. He can’t do that though, because there’s people dying wherever these coordinates are for and Dean is supposed to save them. 

The coffee tastes like shit too, and isn’t that just the cherry on top.

Dean sighs, turning the Impala on and wincing at the normal kick of her exhaust. He pulls a pair of aviators out of the glovebox and slides them on, resigning himself to the drive ahead of him. 

He has a vague idea of where he’s going, something sounds familiar, so he just pulls out of the parking lot. 

He’ll check when he stops to get gas. 

* * *

It was a ghost. A poltergeist, if he’s being precise.

This spirit was a pyro freak, and Dean had to drag a couple kids out of a house fire by himself. He’s been sitting in his car outside the cemetery for the better part of an hour, and he should definitely leave now.

Somebody’s gonna see him here if he’s not careful.

But he’s stuck, frozen staring at his hands sitting in his lap and all he wants to do is call his brother.

Normally when he has a case that freaks him out this bad and he can’t shake it, he’ll call Sam and ask him to tell Dean about school.

Now though, Sammy is probably settling into his form at Stanford and he told Dean he hoped they died. Both him and John, Sam hopes they die. 

He didn’t mean it, and logically Dean knows that —

And yet.

He sighs, a car backfiring in the distance forcing him to focus back on reality again. He starts the car finally and takes a deep breath, pulling baby out of the little clearing she’s been sitting in for the last couple hours.

Dean’s been thinking about home a lot lately.

Baby is the closest thing he has to a home, but he gets flashes of another home sometimes. A room with blue walls and a train set. A room with his toys in the corner. 

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling out onto the main road without bothering to look.

If somebody hits him, who cares.

He misses Mary something fierce right now. Has for the last week that he’s been here trying to solve this fucking case.

Dean has always been alone, he knows that, but he’s so used to having Sam around it feels like he’s walking around without a limb and he’s the only one who knows. It hurts something fierce and Dean’s never lost an arm, but he’s gotta imagine it feels like this.

The necklace Sam gave him is on the floor on the passengers side, where he threw it last night after getting those kids to safety.

The light catches it for a second and Dean chokes back a noise he doesn’t want to examine.

Normally, being alone isn’t the end of the world. Dean can deal with it. 

But John hasn’t answered a single call from Dean, Bobby’s MIA and Dean hasn’t talked to someone who isn’t a victim or a cop in a week. He feels like he’s going insane.

He watches the scenery fly past as he drives, strip mall after strip mall blurring together.

The radio is playing something but he can’t hear it.

A part of him wants to just start driving west until he hits the ocean. Maybe he can crash on Sam’s floor for a couple days.

‘I hope you die! I hope you both die!’

He didn’t mean it. 

He didn’t.

Dean sees a diner up ahead and groans, pulling into the parking lot without thinking about it.

He’s not sure when the last time he ate was.

When the Impala’s parked, Dean takes a minute to look around where he actually is. It’s later than he thought, probably 1:30, and the diner won’t be open for another couple hours.

There’s a sex toy shop next door and that seems to be open, but Dean doesn’t want to go in there.

There’s a grocery store (closed), a gas station (closed) and a couple other small restaurants - all closed.

Something jingles to his right and he looks over in time to see a couple girls stumble out of a tattoo parlor next to the sex toy shop. Huh.

Dean feels his legs move before he makes the conscious decision to do it, and barely remembers to lock the door behind him. He jogs over to the shop and hesitates for a moment. 

The door says they close at 2.

He pushes the door open, looking around nervously before stepping in. “Hello?”

A voice answers him from a room down the hallway that he can’t really see, “Just a second!”

Dean lets the door shut behind him fully and checks out the framed art on the walls. There’s a ton of different flash tattoos all over the place, some a more classic style and some a more modern style. They’re all really good.

He’s tracing over a drawing of a classic pinup style portrait of a girl riding a dragon when he hears -

“You here to make an appointment?”

Dean spins around and smiles weakly at the guy behind the counter, “I, uh...” He licks his lips, feeling like a fish out of water, “I was hoping to get a tattoo?”

The guy sighs, sounding more putout than annoyed, “You know it’s 1:45 and I’m supposed to lock the doors in fifteen minutes.”

He’s not sure why, but he’s desperate.

He goes over to the counter and pulls out his wallet, setting the $150 cash he got last night on it. He tries to put on the most charming smile he can, the one that gets him the big money, and says, “Here, you can keep all of this. It -“

Dean pulls something else out of the back corner of his wallet and sets it down on top of the cash.

“It’s small.”

It’s a tiny scrap of paper that he stole from John’s journal a couple years ago.

It’s the coordinates of the house they had in Lawrence, scribbled in Mary’s handwriting. 

He’s guessing he looks about as good as he feels, because the guy sets a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Look, kid, are you feeling okay?”

His brain has been in autopilot mode for the last week, but it manages to sputter back to life in time to pull a story out of his ass. 

Dean chokes back a noise, his hands shaking, “My mom, she uh -“ He doesn’t even have to fake the tears that are welling up in his eyes, “She just died and I, um, I can’t -“

That seems to be convincing enough because the guy sighs, looks up at the ceiling and says, “Shit. Okay, fine. But I can’t take all of this.”

He takes about $40 off the counter and slides the rest of it back across to Dean.

“Give me 5 minutes to get everything ready. And do me a favor?”

Dean sniffs, rubbing a hand over his face with a nod.

The guy smiles before disappearing down the hall again, “Go lock the door for me.”

He waits before the guy is out of sight and reaches over the counter to grab one of the little tip envelopes most places like this keep back there. He slides the rest of the money in and slips it into his pocket so he can pass it off later with no fuss.

Dean locks the door for him and sets his forehead against the glass for a moment, the cool air outside helping him to cool down.

The crying was supposed to be fake, but now Dean’s kinda worried that once the floodgates are opened he won’t be able to close them again. He’d really rather not have a total meltdown in front of this guy when he’s already inconveniencing him enough for tonight.

The last thing he needs is to see a grown man cry.

He stays there until a hand settles on his shoulder, and the artist is looking at Dean like he half expects him to implode at any second now.

Dean laughs, more than a little sheepish, “Sorry, uh...” He scrubs a hand over his face again, “It’s been a long day.”

He wipes his hand off on his jeans and offers it, “I’m Dean by the way. I really appreciate this.”

“Rob,” the guy answers with an apologetic smile. “It’s no problem man. Come on.” He claps a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “Got everything set up for you.”

Dean nods and follows him to the first room on the left of the hallway, doesn’t bother trying to say anything. He just sits down on the table and tries to pretend that his brain isn’t just playing one long flatline noise in his head.

There’s music playing on the speakers but Dean can’t hear it.

Rob rolls over to him on his stool with the stencil in hand and smiles, “Ok, where do you want it Dean?”

He holds out his wrist and has to clear his throat, “Um, here’s good.”

John will kill him if he ever sees it, but who cares at this point. Dean never does anything for himself and damn it, he’ll do anything to feel closer to somebody right now.

Rob nods and makes quick work of prepping the area, cleaning it and sanitizing it and all. He puts the stencil on faster than Dean’s ever had anybody do it, and then suddenly he’s holding it up for Dean to check out.

“That placement look good?”

It looks like he just copy and pasted Mary’s handwriting onto his wrist.

He’s been thinking about this since he was sixteen, but he’s always been worried that there wasn’t anybody good enough to get the lettering right.

Dean swallows and nods, “Perfect.”

He pretends his voice doesn’t sound wrecked.

Rob nods and rolls back over to his table, bringing back a little stand and his gun with him.

“Okay Dean, the wrist can hurt a little bit so just do me a favor and don’t move.”

Dean snorts, offering his hand out, “Sir yes sir.”

He doesn’t say anything before he starts.

Dean sucks some air in between his teeth and tries not to flinch. He forgot that this wrist might be broken. Oops.

Aside from that, Rob seems like a nice guy though. He’s older than Dean, maybe in his early 30’s, but he’s got a real paternal energy about him. It’s comforting.

“You got any kids?”

Really, Dean shouldn’t be allowed to interact with the general public on less than four hours of sleep.

Rob doesn’t seem thrown off by the question and he hums a happy sound. “Yeah, I got a little girl.” He leans over to get some more ink, “You?”

Dean snorts, bringing his other hand up to wipe off his face again, “Not that I know of.”

It earns him a laugh as Rob wipes off his wrist, “You want ‘em?”

Does Dean want kids?

Sometimes he thinks he’d like that. Get out of the life, meet a girl, start a family, coach a soccer team. Make sure his kids get to do everything he never got to do. Make sure his kids never have to suck dick to be able to afford food.

That would be nice.

“No,” he chokes out. “No, not a good idea.”

Rob huffs, “Yeah, I used to be like that. And then Jackie told me she was pregnant and the moment I saw her little hand on the ultrasound...” He looks up at Dean and grins, “I was wrapped around her little fingers.”

God, that sounds nice.

To always have this little person that you created, to always have someone in your corner, to have something to fight for. Dean would kill to have that.

“That’s great,” he hears himself say. “She’s lucky.”

They don’t really say anything after that, and Rob’s got him done, cleaned up and wrapped up by 2:05. He gives Dean a pamphlet on aftercare and the original coordinates back and walks him to the door.

Dean slips the envelope with the rest of the money into his pocket when he leans forward to open the door.

“Thanks again, man.”

He gets one foot on the sidewalk before Rob grabs his elbow.

“Hey kid?”

Dean swallows and turns around, trying to smile at him, “Yeah?”

“Everything’s gonna be okay. I don’t know what’s going on, but...” Rob shrugs, dropping his hand from Dean’s arm, “It’ll work out.”

He laughs, more than a little bitter, “How do you know that?”

Rob’s smile is unnervingly kind. He shrugs again, “Call it fathers intuition.”

The answer catches Dean by surprise and he smiles, ducking his head. When he looks back up again, it’s a real smile he’s offering, “I’ll take your word for it.”


	7. a north star on the top of both his feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Dean knows something that John doesn’t know he knows, and…
> 
> John Winchester is a miserable, mean, biting son of a bitch.
> 
> Dean’s never really thought of his dad as cruel though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little something different for this chapter because I'm running out of ways to describe the process of getting a tattoo lol. also I'd imagine dean's like me and just completely zones out while getting tattooed so it's not really fun to write or read?
> 
> WARNINGS: slurs, violence, verbal abuse, domestic abuse mentions, homophobia, sad dark shit buddies. it's sad and dark. 
> 
> WARNING FOR FRIEND WHO COMMENTED ON THE ORIGINAL FIC WHO HAS NORTH STARS ON THEIR FEET: maybe don't read this one. Take care of yourself, please. <3

Dean wouldn’t exactly call himself a sentimental person.

Anybody who knows Dean, knows that he’s an incredibly sentimental person, but still. He wouldn’t call himself that.

Because sentimental means weak, sentiment is girly, sentiment serves no real purpose.

John barely kept their important legal documents when they left Kansas. They’re both lucky he had at least a modicum of forethought to grab their birth certificates before they fucked off for the rest of their lives.

So, listen, Dean would never call himself sentimental, because he has no desire to get shit from his dad.

But does Dean keep things that mean a lot to him? Sure, of course he does, he’s not insane.

John hates his tattoos. He hates them. Every time he catches a glimpse of them on a hunt, it ends in a screaming match that would probably get the cops called on them if they weren’t in some sketchy ass motels.

But now Dean’s 22 and John doesn’t pay him enough attention to care what he thinks.

(Of course he cares, he’ll always care, but he pretends he doesn’t because Sam got to rebel and damn it, Dean’s overdue too.)

He hates these the most out of all the tattoos Dean’s acquired over the last seven years.

John huffs, the flash of the tops of Dean’s feet making him stop in his tracks, “Son.”

Dean’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t stop pulling his socks up, “Sir?”

The heater kicks on in the background, and this is the first time Dean’s seen his father in six months. He called Dean to come down here on December 23rd, and God help him, but for a second Dean really thought that he called because it was Christmas.

No, John called because there was a case that he needed help on. He needed Dean to be bait of all things, and he’s just thrilled that he woke up on Christmas morning with all of his limbs.

“What the fuck is on your feet?”

John sounds pissed. If he were drunk, Dean would be mentally preparing for a fight. John’s a mean drunk, but even worse than that, he’s a violent drunk. And Dean’s his favorite punching bag.

But a sober, pissed off John?

Sometimes, Dean would rather just let his dad take shots at him.

“Nothing,” he sighs, knowing no answer is going to placate his father. Dean shrugs, pulling a boot on and refusing to look up, “What do you mean?”

John makes a noise that can only be described as a growl and before he has time to process it, he’s already crossed the room and yanked Dean’s other sock off.

The North Star on the top of his foot stares up at them, unblinking.

Dean just kinda freezes, unsure of what to say.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?!” John throws his boot at him and Dean barely catches it.

(He could’ve caught it, of course he could have, but that just seems to make John angrier when he tries to hurt Dean and he stops it.)

Instead of saying anything Dean steels his shoulders and slips that foot into his boot, foregoing the sock John is holding hostage, “Shit I don’t know dad, but I’m sure you could fill me in.”

He stands up and shoulders past his father, going back over towards his duffel by the door.

John barks a mean, bitter laugh, but miraculously he doesn’t try to follow him. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you…”

When Dean glances over his shoulder, he has to resist the urge to physically flinch. The look John’s giving him has disgust written clear all over his face.

There’s a lot he could say in response to that, but he doesn’t. There’s a lot of blame that can and should be placed on John, but he can’t bring himself to do that yet.

“Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

And that’s –

Dean does flinch at that, all of the air letting itself out of his lungs at once, “Wow.”

He knows John’s wrong, he’s just trying to hurt him. For one, John doesn’t believe anything he’s ever said about Dean’s tattoos. The man was a marine, he’s got more than a couple himself, and it’s bold as hell for him to act like some sort of puritan.

But Dean knows something that John doesn’t know he knows, and…

John Winchester is a miserable, mean, biting son of a bitch.

Dean’s never really thought of his dad as cruel though.

“Fuck you,” he spits out, his heart slamming to a stop against his chest. He’s never said that out loud before. He’s thought it a million times, but he’s never been dumb enough to say it.

He drops his duffle with a loud thud, pulling out the gun he keeps in his waistband now, “Fuck you.”

John laughs and worse, it’s a real laugh. It’s not a mean, vindictive laugh, that Dean could handle – no, it’s a real laugh. It’s the same laugh he’s heard his whole life when John watches Monty Python. It’s the same laugh dumb jokes ten-year-old Sam used to tell him got.

“You think mom would be ashamed of **_me_**?!” Dean laughs, but his is bitter as he brings his gun up, “She wouldn’t even recognize you, dad.”

That seems to hit a nerve because John’s laugh stops cold, and his expression immediately turns into a sneer.

“At least I’m not a fag.”

All of the color drains from Dean’s face and briefly, he wonders if you can die from embarrassment.

He tries to laugh but it comes out choked and panicked, “You really have lost your mind, haven’t you?”

John snorts, eying him up and down, “You really think I didn’t know kid? You really think I didn’t know what you did for money?” His face again morphs into disgust and somehow worse, disappointment. “Your mother wouldn’t even claim you.”

Dean points his gun at John, ignoring how hard his hands are shaking, “Shut. Up.”

“You’re just a whore,” he sneers, walking towards Dean, unbothered by the threat.

“Worthless,” John spits. “Washed up –“

He’s halfway across the room and Dean cocks his gun, “Don’t make me do it dad –“

And then John’s there, just beyond arm’s length, “I should just kill you right now.” He takes half a step forward and the gun is pressed up against his heart, his eyes never breaking contact with Dean. “Since you don’t give a shit about me, about your brother, about your mom –“

Dean laughs, barely able to hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears, “She hated you, John. Mom hated you.”

His dad’s got him in a dangerous position here, and Dean’s too angry and hurt to care, “I found her journal.” Something flashes over John’s face, something a little bit like fear, and it makes Dean laugh again, “Yeah, you piece of shit, she hated you.”

He takes a half a step forward himself, getting in John’s face, “She hated you and she kicked you out. But you were like fucking herpes or some shit, and you just kept coming back –“

John’s eyes flash something dangerous, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, son.”

Dean hisses, jamming the gun further into his chest, “Don’t call me that. Don’t fucking call me that.”

They’re both breathing hard now, both of them probably madder than they’ve ever been, and some part in the back of Dean’s mind can’t help but yell that this is all over a tattoo.

He uncocks his gun, his blood pressure and temper immediately dropping at the thought.

Dean takes one step back, and then two, and then three, and then puts his gun back in his waistband.

John laughs bitterly, but he doesn’t make a move to come closer, “Pussy.”

For a second, Dean toys with not saying anything at all. He thinks about just grabbing his bag, walking out and never thinking about John Winchester ever again.

Maybe he can go to Stanford, find Sam, find a job, get an apartment, be a normal person.

But instead he just shakes his head, all of the fight drained out of him, “Maybe I am, John.” Dean sighs and pulls his bag up onto his shoulder, leveling the other man with a glare to rival his own, “But at least one day if I’m ever lucky enough to settle down with someone, I won’t beat them like a worthless fucked up loser.”

For just a second, John looks hurt.

Dean doesn’t stick around long enough to confirm his suspicion. He just turns and storms out the door, slamming it shut behind him hard enough that the shutters on the window rattle.

The Impala is sitting across the parking lot next to John’s truck and for just a moment, he fantasizes about taking a crowbar to the truck –

But then he thinks he hears the click of a door behind him, and Dean makes quick work of getting into his car and pulling back out onto the highway.

Something is playing on the radio but Dean can’t hear it over the chaotic, frantic thoughts flying through his head. He threatened John. He called him out on the biggest lie he ever told Dean. He had his fucking gun pulled.

His dad knows he isn’t straight.

That seems to be what triggers the panic attack and Dean swerves hard off the road at the first break in trees he sees. There should be a rest stop somewhere in the next ten miles, but it’s already impossible to breathe and he can’t really see straight and holy shit, he almost shot John.

The Impala slams to a stop just a couple inches from hitting a tree and Dean makes a slightly hysterical, strangled noise that is maybe supposed to be a laugh.

Some part of his brain screams at him to move the car further into the woods, not wanting John to see it if he’s driving by any time soon, but Dean’s just frozen in the driver’s seat.

He knows he’s crying but he’s not making any noise and he’s just… shaking.

He doesn’t know if he regrets any of it, what he said or what he did or – hell, he doesn’t even regret the tattoos.

They’re the same North Stars that Mary drew on the first page of her journal (diary?) and yeah okay, whatever, fuck John Winchester, maybe Dean is kind of a sentimental sap.

But Mary had written that poem down in her journal, and Dean had read it a couple hundred times over since he got it. He thinks he knows why she was so attached to it, but – does it matter? Does it really matter why?

Dean has never had a north star to look towards. He’s always had to rely on himself and his instincts to trust that he’s going in the right direction.

He’s always been his own north star.

Maybe Mary also had to be her own north star.

* * *

The North Star whispers: "You are one   
Of those whose course no chance can change.  
  
You blunder, but are not undone,   
Your spirit-task is fixed and strange.  


"When here you walk, a bloodless shade,   
A singer all men else forget.  
  
Your chants of hammer, forge and spade   
Will move the prarie-village yet.  


"That young, stiff-necked, reviling town   
Beholds your fancies on her walls,   
And paints them out or tears them down,   
Or bars them from her feasting halls.  


"Yet shall the fragments still remain;   
Yet shall remain some watch-tower strong   
That ivy-vines will not disdain,   
Haunted and trembling with your song.  


"Your flambeau in the dusk shall burn,   
Flame high in storms, flame white and clear;   
Your ghost in gleaming robes return   
And burn a deathless incense here."

Vachel Lindsay


	8. Kerouac quote on his right leg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Happy birthday to me, I guess.”
> 
> “Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road” right at the bend of his right knee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll fix the formatting in a little bit but thank you for all the comments 🥺🖤
> 
> Warnings really only for suicidal ideation here, I think.

Dean shifts on his feet, rapping his knuckles absent mindedly against the counter. Some goofy top 40’s song is playing in the background and Dean feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. 

The shop is definitely one of the nicer ones that he’s stumbled onto, and the artist seems nice. His name is Alex and he’s got more piercings than Dean has ever seen, and a smile that makes his knees go weak. 

He’s always been a sucker for a good smile. 

The front desk girl glares at him from behind her giant computer, snapping her gum at him. Dean smiles, apologetic, and walks back over towards all the flash tattoos on the wall. 

It’s his 24th birthday and damn it, Dean is going to do something for himself. 

That doesn’t make him feel any less guilty about it, but you know what? It’s whatever. What’s one more thing to be guilty about, right?

It’s been a little over a year since the fight at Christmas, six months since the last time Dean saw his dad and it’s been... good. 

Alex sets a hand on his shoulder, making Dean jump. 

“Jesus,” he laughs, a hand coming up to clutch his chest. “You scared me.”

The girl at he front desk rolls her eyes, and Dean has to resist the urge to give her the finger. Her face makes him think that she knows he’s thinking about it. 

Alex laughs and jerks his head, “Sorry man. I got everything ready.”

Dean just nods and follows behind him, trying valiantly not to stare at his butt as they walk. The problem is that Dean’s got eyes and it’s been a couple months since he had the energy to hook up with anyone, and well. It’s a really, really good butt. 

Alex points him to a table, patting Dean’s shoulder as he walks past him, “Here we are. You said you wanted it on your knee?”

He huffs, already undoing his belt, “Yeah. But like, along the side of it?” Dean slides his jeans down to his ankles and turns to show him, “See?”

It earns him a hum and a nod, “Cool. That’s probably gonna hurt, you know that right?”

Dean snorts before sitting down on the table, holding his jeans in his lap, “I’m pretty good with pain. Think I can handle it.”

Alex chuckles and rolls his stool over so he’s sitting in front of Dean, “This stencil look good?”

The handwriting is small and neat, but it almost looks like calligraphy with how pretty it is. Seeing it again makes his chest ache for a life he could’ve had if he’d been braver. 

“Yeah,” his voice cracks. He has to clear his throat again, hoping that he didn’t notice the crack. 

“Yeah, it looks good.”

Alex nods and kicks himself back over to his desk, rolling away without taking his eyes off of Dean. “Cool. Cause the writings so small and close together, you’re probably gonna have to get this one touched up in a couple years to keep it legible.”

He shrugs, fiddling with the hole in his jeans, “‘s fine.”

If he’s lucky, he’ll be alive in a couple years. Dean has a feeling though that it’ll be pretty low on his priority list. 

They’d talked about it up front, about choosing a font or somebody else writing it out for him, but it wasn’t right. As soon as he’d seen Cassie’s handwriting in the margins, he’d known that it should’ve been her writing. 

Sometimes he misses her, fantasizes about going back and begging her to give him another chance, but he never does. He drove all the way out there one time after a bad job, one where he almost died, and he had every intention of getting out until he saw her. 

Cassie was with her friends and a guy, and she looked... happy. Happier than Dean had ever seen her in the almost month they spent together. 

So, he left. 

He saw a movie the other day, they said something about if you love someone you let them go. Their happiness is more important, yada yada. 

He’d thought it was bullshit until he saw the notes in the margins. 

What’s funny, Dean muses as he lets Alex move him around so he can prep the area. What’s funny is that Dean kinda hated On The Road. 

Sure, he could appreciate it for what it was, which was a historical piece of literature, but beyond that? It wasn’t very good. It just felt like the most self indulgent drug induced rant he’d ever had the misfortune of reading. 

But mom wrote about it in her diary, and Dean is so desperate for any sort of familial connection that he’s read it a couple dozen times over the last year. 

This line has stuck out to him every time though. 

Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road . 

Maybe he’s truly crossed the line into being a sentimental piece of shit, but Dean has never felt more at home in his body than when he sees his tattoos. He’s always felt a little out of place, a little wrong in his body, but every time he sees the stars on the tops of his feet he feels grounded. Every time he catches a glimpse of Vonnegut on his thigh, he smiles. Every time he sees the coordinates peeking out from under his bracelets, he feels less alone. 

Alex gives him a pillow to rest his leg on and then they’re off. 

The buzzing sound is almost comforting now, and something about it reminds Dean of the Impala. Maybe it’s because the vibrations of the gun make his skin go numb, just like sleeping on the bench seat while his dad was driving always did. 

Maybe it’s just because he has such strong associations with tattoos and safety. 

He hasn’t really hooked up with any guys since he had the fight with John. Part of him is convinced that maybe if he doesn’t let himself want that, John will forget about everything. 

He ran into Jake on a case not long after the fight, and Dean’s heart felt like it was going to break. He’s got a kid now. A beautiful little girl who has her dad’s eyes and smile, and her mom’s red curls. It felt like running into a part of himself that he’d long since cut off. 

“Dean,” Jake had laughed and pulled him into a hug. “You look good!”

Dean had wanted to set himself on fire. 

Kiara had saved him from having to say anything when her tiny hands yanked on his pants. “‘Tuse me,” she had whined in the same voice every toddler has. “Who you?”

Because he’s never been one to ignore a pretty girl, Dean had knelt down and shaken her tiny hand when it was offered. “I’m, uh...” He’d smiled, feeling clawed open all of a sudden, “I’m a friend of your daddy’s.”

Jake had knelt down to join them, his smile more understanding than Dean was comfortable with. 

“Baby, I’m gonna talk to Dean for a minute, okay?” His hands had never looked more giant than when he brushed a hair off of her face, “Why don’t you go find Jessica?”

Kiara had nodded and turned to smile at Dean, setting her hand on his cheek, “It’s otay. Don’t be sad.”

If he didn’t have his eyes open, he’d swear this little girl was ripping his heart out of his chest. 

Dean remembers watching her run away, he remembers Jake having to pull him up off the ground. He remembers Jake talking to him, but all he could hear was that voice in the back of his head reminding him that he’s poison. 

Alex asks him a question, startling Dean back into the present. 

He has to shake his head to clear it, “Sorry, I zoned out. What was that?”

Because he’s a kind human, or because he just wants to get in Dean’s pants, Alex just repeats the question with nothing more than a smile on his face. 

“What are you doing later?”

His plan was to go buy a pie and a bottle of whiskey or two, hole up in his motel room and gorge himself while watching a Star Trek marathon on TV. Nobody cares about his birthday, nobody’s called him or come looking for him, and Dean’s too chickenshit to do anything about it. So he was just gonna turn 24 by getting blackout drunk and eating pie until he pukes. 

“Well,” he huffs, trying to play coy. “I dunno. Why?” Dean licks his lips, playing up the angle, “You got any suggestions?” 

Alex smirks at him and oh, oh yeah. Dean’s a sure thing. 

* * *

The next morning he sneaks out of Alex’s room, his back hurting in equal parts from sleeping on a futon on the floor and from getting fucked. 

He stops long enough to slip his shoes and pants on, but he’s silent as he slinks out the front door. He doesn’t bother to leave a note, the night nothing more than a fling. 

He winces when the Impala roars to life at 5:30 in the morning, resists the urge to yell an apology for the neighbors. 

There’s a WalMart on the way back to the motel that Dean makes sure to stop at, grabbing two pies, some pop tarts and two six packs of beer. He stops at the magazine rack and opens up the TV Guide, flipping through it momentarily to see what’s on today. 

The Star Trek marathon ends in an hour, but it looks like a Buffy marathon picks up right after and well, isn’t that just a perfect day. 

Dean pays with the last of his cash and makes a mental note to call Bobby tomorrow for a new credit card. 

The drive back to the motel is silent, his head is loud enough without a soundtrack to it, and Dean feels a little numb. He’s not sure why. 

His room smells like stale air when he kicks the door open, his hands full with his feast, but the heat kicks on easily and that seems to take care of that. He’s got enough time to shower, clean the tattoo and change before the marathon starts. 

If he scrubs the rest of his body a little harder than necessary, leaving his skin pink and raw, it’s nobody’s business but his own. 

Dean is gentle with the tattoo, stopping to admire it in the mirror. The script starts just below his knee and winds up to just about his hip. It feels good. It feels correct. 

He runs out of the bathroom and yanks on some clean boxers, not bothering with a shirt, and jumps into the bed just as the opening credits are rolling. 

The pie is good, the beer is chilled from the drive over here with no heat on and it’s the perfect day. 

“Happy birthday to me, I guess.”

And if the pie tastes a little salty, maybe a little soggy, well, Dean will blame it on the bakery.


	9. John’s dog tags under his right armpit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean,” Sam sighs, turning so he’s facing Dean on the truck now. “You destroyed the Impala.”
> 
> And, well.
> 
> Dean let’s all of the air out of his lungs, wincing, “I… yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: suicidal ideation, vague mentions of john being abusive, sam and dean's weird strained relationship in s1, etc. 
> 
> I'm currently on s7 of my spn rewatch (my second time actually watching the show believe it or not lmao), and the thing that really struck me about s1 dean especially, but even well into s2 is how lonely he was. he hasn't seen sam in like 4ish years, and dean seems to realize very quickly into traveling together again, that his little brother knows nothing about him anymore. which isn't sam's fault, and I wrote a tumblr post about it, but like - I really think that kinda shapes their relationship going forward. sam doesn't make much of an effort to know dean until probably season 3, if not later. 
> 
> anyways, here you go. I might write another one today? I don't know, I've got a solid rhythm going here and I'd like to actually finish a long fic for once in my fandom career lmao. that would be really cool if my brain could let me focus on one story at a time and actually fucking finish it.

“Dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

Fuck, Dean can’t help but laugh, staring at the Impala’s shattered windows, dented panels, and the purest manifestation of his anger and hurt that Dean’s ever seen.

He destroys everything good he touches, and he knows it.

He’s shocked that neither one of them has come out here to check on him.

He went inside after destroying the Impala, storming past Bobby and Sam with a purpose, only stopping to grab a full, unopened bottle of whiskey. He was so angry, he felt so helpless, that he’s glad neither one of them tried to grab him. He probably would’ve swung at them.

Dean sighs, a shiver running up his spine as he takes another sip of his beer.

They left him alone for a couple hours after that, and Dean will never forgive himself for how small Sam’s voice sounded when he told him that dinner was at the table.

That’s how Sammy’s voice sounded when John was on a rampage.

“God,” he laughs, wiping his face off with his sleeve. “Such a piece of shit.”

Listen, Dean knows he’s being hard on himself. He knows that there’s nothing he could’ve done to stop John if he tried, but he hates the way this last year played out.

He hadn’t even seen John in… God, probably a year? Maybe a year and a half? When he showed up at Stanford and ruined Sam’s life.

And it only took a couple minutes before Dean heard himself defending John to Sam again, and he hated himself for it. How easy it was to fall back into this holding pattern when Sam’s there, because no matter what Dean does he always feels like he has to defend his father.

John said he loved Dean and that he was proud of him, but Dean doubts that he meant it.

Sam’s always been the main priority for John, and sometimes Dean can pretend that he gets it, that he doesn’t blame his dad, but –

He might have to kill Sam? Sam’s evil? Dad knew this for how long, and didn’t say anything?

Everything was good before Bobby called and told him that John hadn’t checked in.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t good, but Dean had fallen into a rhythm that didn’t make him feel like dying at the first chance he got. He had a couple guys he hunted with on a rotation, he’d stopped hooking in favor of just playing pool and poker, and he even almost had a relationship. Almost, maybe, kinda.

Dean spent 24 to 26 feeling like a real boy for the first time in his life, feeling like he was on even footing with people his own age for once, and it was nice. It was damn nice.

And then, well, there goes his misplaced sense of duty to a man that he’s hated since he dragged him away from Sonny’s.

Gravel crunches from somewhere behind him and Dean sighs, pulling a beer out of the carwell that he’s sitting on. He pops the top off and hands it to Sam without looking. His brother accepts it easily, leaning up against the hollowed-out Chevy that is quickly turning Dean’s ass into an ice cube.

Sam sighs after a couple sips, a foot absently kicking the rocks under them, “Hey, Dean.”

He lets out all the air from his lungs and finally looks over at his brother, “Hey, Sammy?” It earns him a smile and Dean tries not to grin from behind the beer bottle.

That’s one thing he can still do, maybe. Make Sam smile like everything’s normal.

“Where’d you go, earlier?”

Sam’s looking at him all earnest and doe-eyed and Christ, the kid’s expression should’ve changed or evolved by now, but it still looks the same as it did when he was 10.

Dean looks down at his hands, picking at the label on the bottle, “Whatdya mean?”

The gravel crunches like Sam’s turning in a circle, or maybe digging a hole with the toe of his boot. If he had to bet it’s probably the latter option, his little brother has a habit of literally boring holes into stuff when he’s anxious.

“You never ate dinner,” he says, like that explains everything. Sam takes a sip of his beer and looks over at Dean, frowning, “We heard you steal one of the cars out here.”

And, well, yeah, okay, Dean probably should’ve thought about that.

He sighs, a sad smile spreading across his face as he shrugs, “I dunno. Out.”

He’d driven twenty miles out of Sioux Falls and pulled into the first tattoo shop he’d seen, tossing John’s dog tags at the guy behind the counter. There was no rhyme or reason to the decision, just Dean drowning in a feeling of needing to repent for something he didn’t do.

Sam makes a frustrated noise and punches Dean’s thigh, not quite gently but it won’t bruise either. “Dick,” he huffs, sounding annoyed. “I know that, but where’d you go?”

Dean sighs, his head rolling back to stare up at the stars, “Sam, what does it matter?”

For what it’s worth, Dean has always done his best not to lie to his brother. The nature of the job and the life that they lead means that he’s had to break that rule a couple times, but if he doesn’t have to lie he tries not to.

(He’s furious at John now, even in the afterlife, for making him lie to his brother.)

But somehow, the tattoos have never really come up.

Sure, Sam knows about the ones on his thighs, because when Dean was 17, he got torn up by a werewolf and his baby brother had to stitch up his legs. He’d told Dean how cool they were and asked when he got them, and Dean had told him some half lie about sneaking out of Bobby’s to get it.

He doesn’t know about the rest of them, somehow Dean’s been able to hide them over the last year, and he’s not sure why he’s never mentioned it.

Objectively, they’re pretty dumb tattoos.

Not to be like, horrifyingly contrite or anything, but they’re also the most honest and vulnerable parts of Dean. He’s been told he cares too much, too freely, that he wears his heart on his sleeve – really, he wears his heart in places that are easy to hide, because he doesn’t want anybody else to see them.

“Dean,” Sam sighs, turning so he’s facing Dean on the truck now. “You destroyed the Impala.”

And, well.

Dean let’s all of the air out of his lungs, wincing, “I… yeah.”

Sam opens his mouth, probably to try and talk to Dean again about how he’s doing, about his feelings, and he doesn’t have the patience for that. Not tonight, not right now, not when Dean still feels like a raw nerve, a live wire that’s dancing in a rain storm. Touch him and he’ll destroy you.

“I… got a tattoo.”

His calm, measured voice stops Sam in his tracks and makes him blink dumbly at Dean.

He smiles ruefully, keeping his eyes on his hands, “That’s where I went.” Dean’s face falls and screws up into something painful, something a little more honest than he intended, “I needed to do… something.” He laughs, bitter, “I don’t know why.”

Sam makes a quiet ‘oh’ sound and it tugs at the strings of Dean’s heart more than he’d like to admit.

There’s so much Sam doesn’t know about him now, and sometimes over the last year, Dean’s just wanted to yell that at him. How Sam doesn’t really know him anymore, how Sam never really knew him, how much he missed his little brother the last four years, how much Sam hurt him.

“Can I…” Sam frowns, has to clear his voice a little so he sounds less nervous, “Can I see?”

If there’s a lot of hurt in his smile, Dean tries not to show it.

He pushes himself up off of the hood and pulls his shirt, jacket and flannel up to his armpit.

Right there in the crux of it, right where they’d fall and get stuck when Dean used to wear them to sleep when he was a kid, is the fresh tattoo of the dog tags.

It’s really beautiful, if Dean can say so himself, even if he hates the man it’s for.

The chain curls up from his armpit like it would if he was wearing it, but it disappears before it actually touches his chest. The text looks like it’s raised metal, which is wild, and Dean’s amazed that an artist this talented, lives in a town smaller than Sioux Falls.

Sam blinks at his brother, once, twice, and his face goes carefully blank when Dean pulls his layers back down again. He takes a sip of his beer, not saying anything for a moment.

Because he’s Dean, the silence makes him itchy with nerves to the point that he can’t sit still.

“Well,” he coughs, setting his empty beer bottle down and grabbing another one just to have something to do with his hands. “There you go.”

Sam hesitates for another minute, licking his lips, before asking, “Dean… is there something you’re not telling me?”

So many things, he wants to laugh. So many things about the last eleven years of his life.

He wants to tell Sam about Jake and Kiara, about Cassie some more, about Lisa and Rhonda and John, and how much Dean wants to be normal but he can’t figure out the footing. Because Dean has never been normal, he’s never felt like he belonged anywhere, and he’s been drowning in this sense of loneliness for the last three years.

He wants to tell Sam about mom’s journal, about the pictures he’s found, about his fight(s) with dad. He wants to tell Sam about the times he went to Stanford and almost talked to Sam, but chickened out every time.

He can’t tell him, though. He can’t tell Sam about that without burdening him with Dean’s problems and hell, Sam’s got enough on his own plate without knowing what a mess his big brother is.

Take care of Sammy, John’s voice echoes in the back of his head.

So, Dean just smiles at his brother and shrugs, “I got a couple more tattoos since the last time you saw me.” He hopes his tone is as flippant as he’s aiming for.

Sam laughs, and Dean’s not sure if it’s a real laugh, but his brother’s smile is easy and warm and for just a second, Dean doesn’t feel like he’s drowning anymore.

“Oh yeah?” He grins, nudging Dean’s knee with his elbow, “Like what? You got a tramp stamp or something?”

Dean snorts, fully leaning into the normalcy of this conversation and hoping that maybe if he plays along enough, everything really will be fine.

“Fuck you very much,” he fake grumbles, kicking Sam’s leg. “I’m the epitome of class, Sammy.”

“Oh that explains the cherries on your ass,” Sam cackles.

Dean squawks, sitting up again and smacking his arm, “You perv! What kinda man checks out his brother’s ass?!”

Sam snorts, almost spewing beer out of his nose, “Well, lock the door when you –“

“Alright alright, bitch, don’t be weird.”

“I’m weird? Dean, you –“

“Finish that sentence and watch what happens, Sammy. Just watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been occasionally posting stuff on my blog about this (deansmom on tumblr) so please feel free to check it out and yell at me lol.


	10. Sam, John and Mary’s birth and death dates (sam's death date is crossed out once already)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But now they’re here and he’s got 10 months left before the devil’s gonna drag him down to Georgia, so to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: I wrote Sam, I wrote Dean thinking about Sam, and this chapter probably feels kinda off, but that's on purpose.
> 
> Dean was High Key Depressed in s3 for obvious reasons, and his method of dealing is usually just pretend you don't care hard enough that maybe at some point you actually won't care anymore. So like, he cares, but he doesn't - that's why it feels weird. He's trying very hard not to care, not to be sad about dying, but he's like. Drowning in it. This is also supposed to be like early on in season 3, pre him admitting that he's scared, but he's indulging in the stuff that he's kinda always wanted to do but never has because, y'know. John, internalized issues, his own weird hangups, his brother, etc. 
> 
> Also, sorry the drawing is so janky I couldn't find anything online to even photoshop that looked right, and then I found [this](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/3f/ae/69/3fae697b86ff6190b5d1673f8b019e69.jpg) but s3 dean would not do the angel thing, and I've always pictured this being a smaller tattoo. And photoshop crashed when I tried to open it so I had to edit the damn thing in Preview and lmao, I did the best I could. Forgive me. For the drawing and also this whole chapter l o l

The demon deal made sense at the time.

Was it a bad idea? Yes. Was Dean secretly just desperate for an escape from all the guilt he’s felt for the last year about his brother? Dean’s man enough to admit that yeah, that probably had a little bit more to do with it than saving Sam.

But now they’re here and he’s got 10 months left before the devil’s gonna drag him down to Georgia, so to speak.

Sam’s been indulging him more than he probably deserves, given how pissed he is at Dean, but he’s not going to argue with his brother.

If Sam wants to let him hook up with girls without question or eat whatever he wants or disappear for a day or two at a time? That’s Sam’s prerogative. He’s a big boy.

Still, he thinks, looking around the shop that they’re standing in. This one, Dean’s surprised that Sam is willing to indulge him on. Sam’s definitely not a puritan or as high and mighty as their dad was, but he’s still more like John than Dean will ever tell him out loud.

He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, really, he doesn’t. He might have hated their dad, but at one point in his life John Winchester was a decent man.

Dean looks at his baby brother who sticks out like a sore thumb in this shop, and smiles.

When John was drunk, he used to tell Dean all the time how much he reminded him of Mary. And, well, Dean never really believed him because to hear dad tell it, Mary was nothing short of a saint. She was soft, she was strong, she was the perfect wife and mom –

Dean is loud and brash and he doesn’t always have the patience to be nice when he should be. He doesn’t like or trust small talk, he’s never been good at it, and he has a defiant streak a mile wide and a millennium long. His distaste for authority is bone deep and often obnoxious, he’d rather hurt someone’s feelings than lie to spare them, and he overcompensates, y’know. Masculinity, and whatnot.

He thought John was crazy until he found Mary’s journal and now, he thinks he might get it.

Mary writes like Dean thinks, which is frantic and panicked on his best days. She wrote about wanting to live a normal life, wanting kids, wanting to settle down with anyone who wasn’t a hunter. She wrote about this girl she met on a hunt, how they hooked up in the back of her dad’s truck. She wrote about loving her dad and hating him, hating everything he stood for, and how she felt guilty for hating him.

Samuel Campbell doesn’t really sound like John, but, well – Dean can read between the lines.

But Sam? Sammy? He’s the best parts of John.

He’s passionate, his penchant for blind loyalty and faith is stronger than Dean will ever be able to understand, he’s able to be compassionate in ways that Dean never learned. He’s patient and devoted and is very headstrong.

(That was the thing about John; like most narcissists, he was damn good at putting on a show for outsiders. The few times he showed up for parent teacher conferences, he was a hit. He could play the part of a doting dad, an empathetic agent, a shoulder to cry on, without breaking a sweat. And when he bothered to be there for his kids, to actually try, he was almost a good dad.)

(Almost.)

“Hey,” Sam interrupts his train of thought, bumping their elbows to get his attention. “What are you getting again?”

Dean hums, shrugging a little, “I dunno. Haven’t decided on how I want it.”

“It’s just dates?” Sam asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He drums his fingers on the counter in front of him, a noncommittal noise working its way out of his throat. Something catches his eye at the other end of the display case, and Dean turns to grin at him.

“Hey Sammy,” he wiggles his eyebrows, gesturing his head. “You should check out those plugs over there.”

Sam scrunches up his face, somewhere between affronted and confused, and walks over hesitantly. It’s been a minute since Dean’s looked that amused about anything that wasn’t some stupid movie he made Sam watch.

When he sees it, he doesn’t even have to ask Dean if that’s what he’s talking about. Sam rolls his eyes, an involuntary snort happens, “Dude, shut up.”

“What?” Dean grins, sliding up next to Sam and tapping his finger over the big, pink, glitter plugs that are front and center in the display case. “I think those would really bring out your eyes.”

“You’re an ass,” Sam mumbles, shoving his brother lightly.

Something unclenches in Dean’s chest at the normalcy of the comment. Sam’s been walking on eggshells around him for months now, and while Dean gets it, he’d rather not spend the year he has left being treated like he’s something dangerous.

And that’s where Sam is too much like John.

He’s mad, all the time, about everything, but he’s too good at turning that anger onto others. He’s got a bad temper and less self-control than Dean. He’s cruel and cutting when he lashes out, and he falls into that tunnel vision mindset way too easily. He is often pragmatic to a fault, and Dean knows it’s not his fault (look at who his examples for mental wellbeing were) but as empathetic as Sam can be for others, he rarely extends that courtesy to the people in his life.

He’s right, he’s always right, and nobody else is ever right – when Sam sets his mind to something, it’s happening no matter what, no matter how bad of an idea it is. That isn’t inherently a bad thing, but it’s what scares Dean so much about Ruby and the demon blood and the special children or whatever. Sam trusts too easily, and it makes him easy to manipulate, and even harder to talk out of it when it falls apart.

Sam knows all of this about himself and that’s why Dean will never tell him how much he reminds him of John.

(For the record, Dean knows he’s one to talk. He could outdrink his dad before he died, he’s a mean son of a bitch when he’s drunk and he has a short temper. It burns hot and fast, but it’s not sustainable – he holds a grudge for an hour, maybe a week at most. Sam and John will hold a grudge for the rest of their lives.)

The tattoo artist comes out and grabs him with a hand on his elbow. Her smile is kind, her hair is green and she reminds Dean of Ellen in the best way.

He follows her and Sam, barely listening as they chat about the area and the clientele.

She already has the list of dates and initials and Dean told her to do whatever she thought would look the best on him.

Again, Dean would never call himself sentimental.

But fuck it, he’s dying, right? A little sentimentality never hurt anyone.

So, he pulls off his layers one by one, setting them at the head of the table so he has a pillow to lay on, and stops when he’s just in his undershirt.

Barbara (‘Please, call me Babs’ a memory reminds him) pats the table, grinning at Dean, “Alrighty handsome, you just lay down here and let me do my job.”

Dean snorts but complies, positioning himself as comfortably as he can while giving her enough access to his ribs.

She applies the stencil after a cursory shave down, which Sam makes fun of him for barely having any chest hair –

(“It’s not my chest Sammy, it’s my fucking armpit.”

“I have hair on my armpits.”

“Yeah, you’re a damn sasquatch. Some of us are human.”

“Boys, boys, please! There shouldn’t be much hair there anyways.”

“Yeah, suck it Sam! Besides, you naired your chest the other day, who are you to talk?”)

Babs holds up a hand mirror for Dean so he can see the stencil, and his heart stutters in his chest. It’s more than he imagined, and somehow both not enough and too much at once.

It’s just a headstone, maybe 3 or so inches tall, but each line has the dates. There’re clouds coming up around the bottom and some lines coming out of the top, almost like a halo.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, nodding. “Yeah, that’s good. Perfect.”

“Awesome,” she grins, getting everything in place. She looks up at Sam before she starts, “Now honey, if you’re gonna stay here, you gotta sit. Otherwise you can wait outside.”

Sam seems to consider it for a moment before nodding, “You cool if I go wait in the car, Dean?”

He nods, not really looking up from where he’s lying on the table, “’S fine.”

At that, Dean lets himself zone out while she works, trying to get lost in the vibrations of it all.

He still hasn’t shown Sam his other tattoos, but they’ve talked about getting anti possession ones. He tried to talk Sam into getting it done today, but he was being weird so Dean just let it go.

Whatever, if the weirdo wants to get possessed, that’s on him.

The whole thing takes about an hour and when they’re done, Dean’s woken up with a gentle pat on his cheek. Babs is smiling down at him, her eyes very kind if not a little amused, “Hey handsome. Time to wake up now, you’re all done.”

Dean laughs and turns, hiding his face in his jacket for a moment before yawning, “I fell asleep?”

She huffs, going back over to her chair, “Yup. Pretty early on.”

Because he’s Dean, and he feels guilty for everything, he sighs, “Shit, I’m sorry. I promise I’m usually a better client than this.”

Barbara throws her head back and laughs, nothing but amusement on her face. “Honey are you kidding me? You fell asleep getting a rib tattoo. I’d take that any day over you bitching about how much it hurts the whole time.”

Dean snorts, pushing himself upright with the tiniest wince, “I guess that’s fair.”

She rolls back over to the table with a small goody bag in her hands, “Here’s some after care info. I know you said you know what you’re doing, but I’ve been trying out this new thing, saniderm?” She pulls out the paper and hands it to Dean, “Follow these directions and it should heal perfectly.”

Dean scrunches up his face a little, “Is that why my side feels stiff?”

“Probably,” Barbara laughs, patting his knee. “If you can’t restrain yourself from taking it off totally, it’s fine to clean it, but make sure it’s completely dry before putting another sheet on.”

He flips the paper over and hums, nodding a little bit, but doesn’t really say anything else.

After a moment she rolls back over to her table and Dean takes the opportunity to stand up and put all his layers back on.

“Thank you so much, again,” he offers, hovering by the door for a moment. “It looks great.”

It occurs to him that he hasn’t seen it finished, but he trusts her.

And, again, he’s dead in 10 months, so does it really matter?

“You come back and see me any time you want honey,” she grins, offering him a small wave. “You and your brother.”

Dean chuckles, ducking out of the shop once he drops her tip off at the counter.

Sam’s passed out on the backseat of the Impala, snoring away like the animal that he is, and Dean can hear him before he even opens the car door. Yikes.

“God help the woman who sleeps next to you every night,” he mumbles, getting into his seat.

Briefly, he debates turning the radio on full blast just to be an asshole and scare Sam out of his slumber. Because he’s a great brother, Dean decides that he doesn’t feel like hearing the bitching that will cause at the moment, and spares Sam from a small heart attack.

He pulls the Impala out of her parking spot with a sigh.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you, Sammy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, here's the tea before any of you come for me: I don't really like Sam. I know, a cardinal sin of fandom admitting that out loud, but look, to write this I can't ignore his relationship with his brother. So, there's a significant portion of this chapter that Dean spends thinking about Sam and John and how they're more alike than they aren't. This is just how I feel like Dean felt about his brother at this point in canon (I am, however, not incorrect on any of the musings). Sorry if it hurt anybody's feelings but hey, listen, I'm just vibing with Dean here, y'know. I am just the messenger, so to speak. I also really picked apart Dean here too, to be fair. I could go on for days about that Winchester lol.
> 
> [Here's a post I wrote rewatching spn about why I don't vibe with Sam, for further context.](https://deansmom.tumblr.com/post/636422481787404288/all-of-this-and-this-is-what-pisses-me-off-about)
> 
> I haven't decided if I want to include them getting the anti possession tattoos as a chapter, but if it's not the next chapter it's because I ran out of brain power to write another chapter with Sam.


	11. Samulet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anti possession sigil and the samulet below the dog tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it’s not clear, Sam and Dean get their tattoos off camera. 
> 
> Warnings for: anxiety, suicidal ideation, doing the right thing for the wrong reasons. 
> 
> I’ll fix the formatting in the morning, but I wrote this while listening to Hayley Williams new record 🖤 go listen.

If anyone asks, it really wasn’t intentional. 

It’s been years since they’ve seen each other, years since he’s talked to him now. 

Sure, he’s heard rumors from acquaintances that they moved to this neck of the woods. And yeah, maybe he’d kinda drawn a few conclusions about who owned this place. 

It doesn’t mean that he wasn’t a little bit horrified when he’d heard his own voice introduce himself to Jake. 

If Sam noticed how awkward it was in between them, he didn’t say anything. 

He’s been thinking, abstractly, that Sam knows all the other important people in his life - he met Lisa, he met Cassie, he knows (a little bit) about Rhonda. He doesn’t know a damn thing about Jake. 

And sure, maybe Dean had kinda planned to be honest with his brother, but the second that he walked through the doorway it was like he was a man possessed. 

He’s always made jokes when he’s uncomfortable, but the whole appointment Dean had felt weirdly naked without a microphone in his hand. He could’ve charged for admission to the terrified standup show he put on in front of the only boy he’s ever loved. 

Maybe Dean’s got a better poker face than he thinks he does or Sam just really doesn’t give a damn about him, but he didn’t say anything about any of it. 

Twenty minutes ago Dean had felt too itchy in his skin, too frantic to sit still, and he’d hoped up off the motel room bed and grabbed his keys. 

“Where the hell are you going?” Sam had grumbled from the bed, a pillow half covering his face. 

Dean thinks he said ‘Out’ (like he’s seventeen again), but now he’s not so sure. 

He kicks the cement below him, absently wishing he had a cigarette or a joint or - fuck, something. Anything to keep his hands busy and his mind from spiraling even further. 

He’s so lost in the panic and the shame that he’s been drowning in since this afternoon that he almost misses the door opening. 

A loud, pointed sigh makes his eyes snap up and Dean has to fight the urge to run. 

“Hey,” he breathes out, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding. “Can we talk?”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorway, “Well, that depends.” He makes that face, that stupid face that makes Dean a little weak in the knees, “Are you the Dean I know or that weird guy I met a couple hours ago?”

He ducks his head, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. 

“I dunno,” Dean shrugs before looking back up to meet his eyes. “I’m, uh...” He winces, “I’m really sorry man.”

A hazy memory pops up suddenly, and it almost makes him laugh out loud. 

‘You, kiddo, have got ants in your pants.’

Jake just watches him for a moment, his gaze calculating, “Are you okay, Dean?”

And that, well, that makes him laugh out loud. 

Isn’t that the million dollar question lately? Is Dean okay? Has Dean ever been okay? Who the hell knows, honestly, but Dean just knows if he falls apart everything is over. If he falls apart, he’s not going to be able to put himself back together. 

“No,” he finally says when he can catch his breath. “No, I’m not.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder and absurdly, Dean just wants to fall into a hug that he hasn’t felt since he was 23. He doesn’t get to do that anymore, he can’t put anybody else in danger. 

He was weak once, back then, and he can’t do that to them again. 

When he doesn’t move forward, Jake just sighs and drops his hand. He sounds tired, and Dean hates himself even more. “Why are you here, Dean?”

He sniffs, wiping his face off with the back of his hand, and shrugs. 

“I, uh...” He licks his lips, “I was kinda hoping you had another appointment?”

It’s too much. He knows it’s too much. 

He should turn around and leave and never, ever bother them again - but when he tries to move his feet, it feels like they’re cemented in place. 

It’s quiet for a few minutes, nothing but the sound of the Chicago suburbs flowing around them. 

“Come on,” Jake sighs and starts walking back towards the waiting door. 

Dean blinks, shocked, before hopping into action to follow him. He stays a couple steps behind him, his eyes on the ground as they walk the short distance. 

He stops a few feet inside the building, listening as Jake shuts and locks the shop behind them. It’s late, they’re supposed to be closed now, but Dean’s always been kind of a selfish piece of shit. 

The radio is still playing in the background and Dean sniffs again, this time not sure if it’s from the cold or the tears that definitely aren’t threatening to roll down his cheeks. 

“So,” Jake sighs, dropping down into his chair. “What’s going on Dean?” 

His hands are shaking as he takes his necklace off. He should hand it to him, just man up and hand it over, but he feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin with it. He doesn’t know what ‘it’ is at the moment, but he just. He hasn’t felt still since they walked in here this afternoon. 

“Um,” he drops it on the table. “I need... that added on to another tattoo.” He scrubs a hand over his face, refusing to look at Jake, “Please.”

The sigh he gets in return is deeply familiar, and some fucked up part of Dean wants to cry. 

He swallows, chancing a look at Jake, and smiles. 

He’s furious. It’s the same look he’d had on his face when he came home and found Dean trying to shove all his stuff in a bag and bolt. 

Dean’s resolve crumbles and he just... starts laughing. 

“God, I’m such a piece of shit...” He rubs at his jaw, crying more, “Of course you hate me, you should hate me, you should -“

His knees give out very abruptly, and then Dean’s dropping like a sack of potatoes. 

He doesn’t try to get up or get himself under control, because as much as he’s indulged in his secret desires this last year, he’s still a selfish bastard. It’s completely unfair that he brought them here, knowing full and damn well that Jake co-owns this place, and that he’s breaking for the first time since the demon deal in front of the person he tried to build a life with. 

And yet...

This time when he feels a hand on his shoulder, he falls face first into the waiting arms and holds on for dear life. 

“I’m sorry,” he chants in between the sobs. 

Jake just holds him through it, just like he always has, and Dean equally loves him and hates him. 

It takes a little bit for him to calm down, all the stress and grief and terror he’s been carrying around for the last couple years needing time to get out. 

When his breaths are coming in shorter increments, more even, Jake brings his face up into his hands. 

Dean closes his eyes, embarrassed. 

Gentle thumbs brush over his cheeks, wiping the tears away. 

“This is why you left, isn’t it?”

It’s a fair question. He’s not wrong. 

Dean laughs, opening his eyes to smile sadly at him, “Ah...” His voice is rough and oddly quiet, “Kinda.”

Maybe it’s because he’s honest about it, or maybe it’s because he’s just such a damn pathetic mess, Jake just helps him up off the floor after a couple minutes. He doesn’t comment when Dean winces as his knees straighten. He just sets him on the table, like this is any other appointment, and sits back into his chair. 

“Now,” he says, clearing his voice. “Where’s the tattoo this is being added to?”

Dean sniffles, nodding, before shrugging out of his layers. He takes everything off until he’s only wearing the tank top undershirt, and shivers a little. 

The dog tags are completely invisible looking dead on at him, but when he raises his arm it’s visible. 

He tries not to flinch when hands that aren’t his touch the tattoo - not because it’s unwelcome or anything. It just... he never thought they’d get to -

“That’s a nice piece,” Jake murmurs. “This will look good next to it.”

Dean nods, jerky, afraid to open his mouth and say something stupid. 

He lets Jake work, listens while he yammers on about everything and anything except exactly what Dean wants to know about. He lets him position him like he’s a doll, like a piece of furniture or something, and it’s not until the gun is touching his skin that one of them breaks. 

“I’m dying,” he blurts out. 

Jake flinches, but he’s a damn pro and the gun doesn’t. He freezes for a beat, debating something, but Dean interrupts him. He continues. 

“My dad died,” Dean sighs. “He died for me, actually...” If he sounds bitter, it’s because he is. 

And once he starts, he can’t stop talking. 

He tells him about Tessa, about the plan, about Azazel. He tells him about the demon version of himself he met, that was real but not really. He tells him about the djinn, about the special children, about Sam - about everything. 

Quietly, he tells Jake about the night that made him leave. A hunt gone wrong and a ghoul getting too close for comfort. 

“All I could think, was that I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you guys.”

Jake wipes off the tattoo for the last time, tucking the necklace into Dean’s hand. 

“She cried every night for three weeks, Dean.”

He winces, looking about as small as he feels.

Dean has sworn to himself for years now, that if he ever had kids, he’d never leave them. He would never abandon them like John abandoned him. He would love them and protect them and cherish them. 

Kiara was never his kid and the four months he spent with them meant the world to Dean. That little girl will always have a piece of him and he’s missed her everyday. 

Because he’s selfish, he tells Jake all of this. 

Because Jake has always been more than Dean deserves, he listens. He lets Dean be selfish. And then he drops the bomb. 

“Dean...” He sighs, setting his hands on Dean’s thighs now that they’re facing each other, “You didn’t love me.”

Frankly, he’d rather be punched in the face. 

Jake smiles sadly at him, the hurt so plainly written on his face, “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“I did,” he whispers, a hand fiddling with his fingers. “I tried to, anyways.”

A hand settles on his cheek and Dean leans into it, greedy to be touched by someone who cares. Greedy for a real touch that isn’t fueled by lust or his own self-destructive behavior. 

“You are... so much, Dean.” Jake sighs, his thumb brushing over the freckles, “Your heart is the best thing about you. How easy it is for you to care about others, it makes it easy to fall in love with you.”

The thumb wipes away another tear. 

“I wish I could make this easier for you. I wish that there was something that I could do.”

Dean huffs a laugh, “This is good.”

He gets a grin in return, “You always with the cuddling.”

There’s a difference between a touchy person and a tactile person, and sometimes Dean isn’t sure if there’s any difference for himself. He doesn’t feel real, sometimes, until he feels another set of hands on him. 

After a little bit, he lets Jake bandage him up. It’s not as awkward as Dean had feared it was, the whole having his hands on him again. But it’s not normal, not anymore, and it hurts but it’s a good thing. 

Jake walks him to the door when they’re done, refusing the cash Dean offers him. 

“My daughter had you as an emergency contact, I owe you.”

The sentiment makes Dean laugh. He’d tear down mountains to make that little girl smile. 

He’s almost out the door when he gets yanked back across the threshold and into a hug. 

Dean makes a small ‘oof’ noise before immediately clutching at him, his eyes closing. 

“If I could go back in time and change it,” he whispers into the hug. “I would so I wouldn’t hurt you.”

He doesn’t expect the laugh when they pull back, or the tears. 

“Don’t you dare, Winchester.”

It warms something in him, thawing a thing that’s been frozen for so long Dean’s not sure how to put a name on it.

That feeling stays with him all the way out of the shop and back into the motel room, snuggled under the covers. Safe and warm, he lets his eyes close.

“Hey Dean,” Sam’s quiet voice whispers. “Who is Jake?”

“He’s... an almost.”


	12. enochian protection sigils on his ribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean narrows his eyes at nothing, “You fucking with me, Cas?”
> 
> “Generally, yes.”
> 
> Oh fuck, he really loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think any warnings are really needed here, but let me know and I'll add them. From here on out, we're gonna be dealing with mostly deancas chapters so if that is not your jam please feel free to exit the premises. 
> 
> the little part at the beginning is from HYD by Hayley Williams. seriously, go listen to the album it's great.

_When the air is quiet_   
_And the sky is blue_   
_I can't help_   
_Being reminded of you_   
  
_And how your eyes are shut_   
_So you cannot see_   
_Just how very close_   
_I keep you to me_

* * *

Castiel is... an angel.

He’s more than that, way fucking more than that, but Dean doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s been doing his best not to even think about it ever since he caught himself mourning his death.

Sure he’s running from heaven, and Dean’s pretty sure his grace is slowly being cut off, but he’s still an angel.

(He’s also a dude, but who’s counting?)

Meeting Jimmy had been weird. Some weird Skeevy part of Dean’s brain had been shocked to find out that he wasn’t attracted to Jimmy, like... at all. Objectively, Dean could still admit that he was handsome, but there wasn’t the same pull he always felt when Cas was around.

It’s annoying that he cares as much as he does about a monster.

Well, no, that’s not fair. No matter how hard Cas had worked to be scary when they met in that barn, he’s never been a monster. For all the trouble Dean has reading people sometimes, Cas has never been anything less than an open book since they’ve met.

It was obvious way before the green room, way before that moment in Chuck’s kitchen, that Cas was different from the other angels.

He’s been trying not to think about it.

And then Zachariah sent him to 2014 and it’s been a little bit harder to not think about it.

That version of them? That Dean and that Cas? They were together.

It’s been a couple days and he hasn’t been able to shake the memories of that Cas high out of his mind, in bed with strangers and the way the other Dean had disappeared with him for a minute.

They were miserable. Sure, the world was ending, but they were miserable together.

(“Hey,” he’d asked Cas when they were driving to their deaths. “Why are you doing this? You’re probably going to die, you know that, right?”

That Castiel had shrugged, like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it didn’t knock the wind out of him when he said it.

“Because you asked.”)

And that night at the brothel, before they confronted Raphael? Woof, Dean had felt like he was wearing a neon sign around his neck that said SUCKER.

Because only a sucker would fall for an angel, right?

He lifts his shirt up and steps closer to the mirror, examining the fresh tattoo on his ribs.

After Zachariah found him, Dean had panicked and wanted extra warding. He’d dragged Cas into the first shop they’d seen and made him write down the sigils that were on his ribs for the tattoo artist.

(“Dean,” he’d sighed, ever exhausted with his antics. “This won’t afford you any additional protection.”

“Can’t hurt.”)

He’d almost kissed him, that night.

Dean sighs, dropping his shirt and looking around the motel room with frustration.

Paris Hilton had kinda fucked up their plans for the next couple days, both him and Sam wanting a short break in between hunts. Especially now that they’re talking again, or at least working together. Whatever.

Sam went out somewhere, who the fuck knows where, and Dean feels jittery with the overwhelming anxiety he can’t seem to shake.

It’s always there, in the back of his mind, and has been since he can remember, but it doesn’t usually feel so all encompassing. Normally it’s just a part of who he is, one that he does his best to hide, but now it feels like it’s the only thing other people can see.

The way his hands are always moving, the way he fidgets in place, the way he fusses over his brother and his car because it gives his brain something to do besides cannibalize itself.

“Castiel who art in the middle of fucking nowhere,” Dean sighs, flopping down onto his bed. “I pray to thee, that you call me...” He frowns at the ceiling, idly wondering what that stain is. “Please.”

The room is quiet for a solid couple minutes, the AC unit in the window being the only thing Dean can hear.

Somewhere down the hallway, a couple is having an argument, but Dean doesn’t bother to try and listen.

Finally his phone rings and Dean doesn’t even try to pretend he’s playing it cool. He answers it on the first ring and whines, “Cas, I’m booored.”

He sounds like a child. He doesn’t care.

Castiel, for his part, already sounds exhausted, “There is an apocalypse going on, Dean. Perhaps you can do something about that.”

Dean huffs, petulant, rolling onto his stomach, “I don’t wanna.”

If he was standing in front of him, Dean’s pretty sure he knows exactly what face Cas would be making at him. It’s the one where he looks halfway between murderous and furious with himself for not killing Dean. It is, objectively, a good look for him.

“Careful Cas,” Dean hums. “Your face is going to freeze like that.”

Castiel hesitates for a moment before asking, “I don’t... think that’s how faces work, Dean. Muscles don’t just freeze for no reason-“

He groans out a laugh, pretending valiantly that his heart isn’t skipping several beats, “It’s an expression, buddy.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel hums. “What is an ‘expression’?”

Dean narrows his eyes at nothing, “You fucking with me, Cas?”

“Generally, yes.”

Oh fuck, he really loves him.

Dean lets his head fall forward onto the bed to hide his smile, even though he’s the only one in the room.

“Are you busy at the moment? Or can you spare an hour?”

The other end of the phone is quiet for a moment and again, Dean feels twitchy with the silence. He should really be better at this, at 31.

(As much shit as he gives Sam for being, y’know, soft and understanding, Dean’s always been jealous. Sam doesn’t have to _try_ to be personable, he just is. Meanwhile, Dean’s spent most of his time on Earth trying to be someone he isn’t.)

Castiel sounds reluctant, “I… supposed I could be persuaded to take a break.”

He doesn’t mean to be so obvious about it, but Dean can’t be bothered to feel self-conscious about how much his body relaxes at the response.

“Awesome,” he chuckles. He gives Cas the address and room number and he doesn’t even have to hang up before Cas is just there, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Hello, Dean.”

(No, his heart doesn’t skip any beats, Dean has no idea what you’re talking about.)

And yet, he hears himself laugh all breathy, like he’s some hot girl at a bar trying to flirt her way to a free meal, “Hey, Cas.”

The broken part of his brain yells at him for being this gone on an angel, a fucking monster, but Dean’s had a couple years’ worth of practice tuning that voice out.

He pushes himself up so he’s sitting on the bed and pats the spot next to him, offering Cas a hesitant smile. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Castiel looks hesitant, like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t leave.

He’s pretty damn good at the whole leaving though, could Dean a run for his money actually, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has to not yank Cas down on the bed with him.

Maybe they can never be anything but friends, and one day maybe Dean can be okay with that – but he’s greedy, and he just wants to watch a movie with a cute guy.

If he’s being honest with himself, Castiel is more handsome than cute. Perhaps devastatingly so.

Either way, he’s the first person in a long time who makes Dean’s stomach do that flipflop thing, makes him want to try to be a better person. He’s the first person in a long time who Dean still wants around, even when he hates him.

A traitorous part of his brain hisses _that sounds a lot like love_ , and Dean mentally shuts the door. It’s fine.

Castiel acquiesces eventually, barely setting his butt down on the other side of the bed. He turns to look at Dean, more calculating than anything, “I don’t know any movies.”

It’s a lie, but it’s a damn considerate one, and okay, maybe Dean could love an angel.

“Well you’re in luck,” he grins, trying to sound casual and not terrified. “There’s a Back to the Future marathon starting in a couple minutes.”

He turns the TV to the proper channel and hesitates for a moment before tugging gently on the trench coats sleeve.

“Sit back, you weirdo,” Dean mumbles, trying to pull Cas into position.

Castiel lets Dean move him like he weighs nothing, doesn’t even put up a little bit of a fight, but he does look almost as nervous as Dean feels.

He snorts despite himself, shoving a pillow behind Castiel’s upper back, “Dude, relax. You’re making my back hurt looking at you.”

The movie starts on the screen and Dean turns to watch, trying to keep his posture natural.

He doesn’t have to have any angelic senses to feel how hard Cas is staring at the side of his head, like Dean’s the most infuriating (confusing?) puzzle that he’s ever come across.

“Dean,” Castiel starts after a moment. “What are we doing –“

“We’re relaxing, Cas,” he interrupts, not moving his eyes from the TV. “It’s what people do. What friends do, y’know. Together.”

Castiel looks at the TV finally, seeming to mull the answer over for a little bit.

It’s not until Marty and Doc are at the Delorean that Cas finally asks, “Are we friends?”

Dean turns to look at him, smiling a little bit when he sees that Cas is still watching the movie. “I don’t share my bed with just anybody, Cas.”

He wants to yell ‘ _Of course you weirdo, of course! I gave you the second most important thing I own! I’d trust you with my life! I’d trust you with Sam’s life!_ ’

Sometimes, he wonders if thoughts count as prayers, because Castiel’s smile is… soft.

“Alright, Dean.”

Dean huffs a little, wanting to break the tension he’s not sure if he’s imagining, “Great. Now shut up and watch the movie.”

For a second, he wonders if he’s imagining it or if Cas really does laugh.

“Yes, Dean.”

* * *

Sam brings back pizza and beer with him, and if he’s surprised to see Cas, he doesn’t say it.

“Hey,” he grins at them from the doorway. “Got dinner.”

He sets the food on the foot of his bed and glances at the TV, frowning as he takes off his jacket, “What are you guys watching?”

Dean glares at him, turning the volume up on the TV, “A classic, Sammy.”

“Time travel doesn’t work like this,” Castiel supplies from his spot on the bed next to Dean. “It’s much more taxing on the body, and there’s no reason why Marty would –“

A hand gently smacks his leg, huffing a little, “Dude, don’t.”

Cas harrumphs, almost pouting, “I am not wrong, Dean.”

“It’s a movie, man,” he groans as a commercial comes on. “Just, y’know, suspend reality for a minute.”

Sam watches the two of them, amused and a little curious. He passes off the pizza box before settling against his own pillow, trying not to be too obvious with his snooping.

“Dean, this movie is 116 minutes long, if I suspend reality for only one of those minutes I don’t see how that would –“

A pillow hitting him in the face interrupts Castiel’s next thought, but Sam doesn’t miss the way his brother is trying really hard to bite back a grin.

“You’re such a dick, Cas.”

“As I understand, that’s no way to speak to your friends.”

“I take it back. Shut up and eat your pizza.”

“Dean, I don’t eat –“

“Shhh the movie’s back. God you’re such a talker, who knew Cas was such a chatty Cathy?”

“Now you’re speaking over the movie, Dean.”

“Yeah, but I’m funny.”

Sam smiles mostly to himself, taking a sip of his beer as he tunes out the conversation on the other side of the room. The world might be ending any day now, and the three of them are Heaven’s Most Wanted right now, but this moment feels almost normal.

It almost feels… right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, just like, on a personal level after rewatching spn for the first time in... 7 (?) years, fandom truly did not give Cas in s5 enough credit. that tumblr post talking about how dean makes no fucking sense to cas is absolutely correct, but also like, he has a whole ass personality that was in tact even back then. he tried to make jokes, his dry humor while often times unintentional does come across as very intentional to me during the rewatch. idk, cas is funny! he likes to give dean a hard time! and at this point in the show, they were both deeply annoyed that they cared about each other lmao so like... hope you enjoyed the fluff?


	13. the gun bobby gave him on a hunting trip on the back of his bicep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief is a heavy, tangible emotion on the best days. But Dean’s had nothing but bad days for a year now, and he’s tired of carrying that weight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cries quietly] Dean is so sad in season 7, my poor sweet chicken 😭 
> 
> Warnings: past child abuse, suicidal ideation, general Dean trauma, John flashback, etc. it’s very sad, I’m sorry lol

“I’ll do what I can.”

It takes all of Dean’s energy to stay upright after Emma.

He’s been drunk for the better part of the last six months and is that the healthiest way of dealing with grief? Absolutely not. Is it the way that’s gotten him this far? Yes.

Sam’s not wrong. She wasn’t his kid in the ways that he wanted her to be, but damn if she wasn’t his kid.

Sure, there’s a small part of him that’s half expected somebody to knock on his door one day and be like, “Hey, you’re my dad.” Maybe Dean’s naive, but he never really thought that it would be a monster, something that goes bump in the night with the rest of the big bads.

Sam called him soft and it’s weird hearing that lobbed at him again as an insult.

John liked to tell Dean how soft he was, what a fairy he’d raised, as if Dean didn’t have a kill sheet just as long as his.

Maybe he has gone soft - can you blame him?

He’s lost every single person that he’s ever cared about.

Sure, Sammy’s still here with him, but he’s not really Sam. He’s trying, and Dean’s man enough to admit his little brother is doing a bang up job with the trying, but he’s still not Sam.

All the years Dean spent hunting on his own, feeling completely alone even with his dad and his brother, he’s never actually been on his own before.

He’s never not had anybody watching his back.

Sam’s trying, but Dean can’t trust him with his life. He loves his brother, he’d die for his brother, but right now? Dean’s got nobody in his corner that he can 110% depend on. And that’s terrifying.

So yeah, sure, he’s been drinking himself numb everyday. He tried Frank’s suggestion, wake up and put on a smile because you’re alive and you have to, but he doesn’t have the energy to keep it up when it’s just him and Sam. It’s too hard, it’s too much, and he still doesn’t want to lie to his brother.

The tattoo artist asks him a question and Dean hears himself answer it, but his heads too fuzzy to register anything.

The universe just keeps throwing signs at him and fuck if Dean isn’t doing everything he can not to catch them. Here he is, just trying to keep his head above water, and the universe keeps kicking teenage girls at him.

He doesn’t want to talk about it.

He misses Ben and Kiara something fierce, something he has absolutely no right to. They’re not his kids, they never were, but he would still do anything for them.

Krissy has a dad, a damn good one, but he still can’t shake this feeling of wanting to go back and find her and protect her. She reminds him too much of himself at her age, and the thought of her doing even half the things he did to survive makes him nauseous. She’s a smart kid, she’d be a damn good hunter if she wanted to, but she deserves to have a real life.

He’s been wondering about John and Bobby a lot lately.

The fight they had when Dean was seventeen was bad. Bobby chased John off the property with a shotgun, and he almost shot Dean when he blew out the impala’s back window.

Not that he ever told Bobby that.

They’d been fighting about him.

Bobby had rescued Dean from a job that went sideways, had to pull his ass out of the clutches of some ghouls, and boy had he been angry when Dean told him that he was alone.

“Your damn daddy sent you out on a job by yourself?!”

“I can handle it Bobby! I’m not a kid anymore!”

“Like hell you aren’t, Dean! You’re supposed to be in school, you’re supposed to graduate.”

As an adult, Dean can say that he doesn’t regret dropping out even a little bit. It allowed him the time to take jobs to keep John away from Sam, and he was even able to make real, totally legal money a couple of times. He wouldn’t have been able to be there for Sam as much as he was if he hadn’t, so no, he can’t really regret it.

As a seventeen year old who was mad at the world and hated his dad, though? He was devastated.

“I’m not graduating, Bobby.”

“What the hell do you mean you’re not graduating boy?? Now I know you’ve missed some school but you’re smart as a whip, you can catch up to the rest of them. And hell, I’ll help you-“

“No.” Dean remembers his voice cracking when he answered. He was sitting at Bobby’s kitchen table with a bag of frozen peas pressed to his head and a small glass of whiskey in front of him to help with the pain. “Dad says it’s time that I start hunting seriously.”

Bobby had set his drink down and dropped into the seat in front of Dean, his eyes meaner than he’d ever seen them.

“Dean. Do you want to be a hunter?”

“I don’t have a choice, Bobby.”

“Oh bullshit, Dean, you’ve always got a choice!”

“I can’t leave him with Sam.” He’d never cried in front of Bobby before, even when he was 8 and they were playing catch in a park and the baseball broke his nose. “I can’t leave Sam with him, Bobby. And if I’m not hunting, he’s not going to let me see Sam.”

Dean doesn’t remember what happened much after that, the concussion had been pretty bad and trauma has a way of doing that. Erasing things.

He just remembers waking up on the couch to the two of them screaming bloody murder at each other, and Bobby pulling a gun on John. He remembers jumping in between the two of them when John pulled a knife and tried to cut Bobby.

He doesn’t even remember what they were yelling, but he remembers hearing his name. He remembers Bobby pulling Dean behind him, narrowly avoiding getting punched by John. He’s thought about that moment a thousand times, and he’s still not even sure who John was aiming for.

He’d been drunk, and pissed, and Dean remembers screaming at his dad and asking where Sam was.

“What does it matter Dean, he’s not your kid, you’re not his mom!”

Bobby had shoved the butt of his shotgun in John’s face, breaking his nose, and Dean had been too stunned to do anything except pull his dad out of the house.

“Dean, you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to go with him, we can find Sam, we can-“

He’d just ignored Bobby and kept pushing John outside.

He did have to do this. He did. John had Sam, John knew where he was, and Dean couldn’t leave the two of them alone together. He’d kill him.

(He’s still not sure who would’ve killed who first, but Dean knows seventeen year old Sam wouldn’t have hesitated. 13 year old Sam, he wasn’t sure. He hopes John would’ve.)

But now, Bobby’s dead, Cas is dead and Sam is... broken.

And Dean’s alone.

He pays for the tattoo at the counter, a sense of calmness settling over him for the first time in a while.

Maybe it’s just numbness from the flask he can’t stop drinking from, maybe it’s just numbness from the vibrations or the chemicals in his body settling - who knows.

Dean sits in the car in the parking lot for twenty minutes just staring at the dashboard. He doesn’t even realize it’s been so long until his phone vibrates and he sees the time.

Shit.

He really has been trying to keep it together. He’s sure it doesn’t seem like it, but he has. He’s just not sure if it’s worth even trying to piece himself back together.

The drive back to the house they’re camping out in is long and boring, the scenery blending in with every single other rural highway in America.

Dean hates this car. He hates all the cars they’ve been driving. None of them feel right, none of them feel like his. Baby is just a car, sure, but at this rate Dean will take any familiarity he can get from the universe.

He’s sure there’s plenty of people who’d disagree, maybe even Dean included, but he’s strong. He’s been through hell and back and hell and back, and come out the other side more or less in one piece. But that was when he had a support system, when he didn’t feel like he wasn’t safe around his brother (or himself).

So, he’s not sure why he’s struggling so much. 

Ah, who is he kidding, he knows why.

Dean had fallen into a routine, he’d gotten comfortable, and then Cas had just... destroyed everything. He wants to be mad still, wants to be as blindingly furious as he was back when Cas became God, but he can’t do it anymore.

Dean’s always had these walls up and he’s never really let anyone in. Bobby and Sam know him better than anyone, but even they’re not allowed to see past his walls. There’s plenty of things they have no idea about, and if Dean’s got any say in it, they never will.

But Cas? He blew past all of those walls and even knocked a few more Dean didn’t realize were up, down.

He knew everything about Dean. He knew everything he did in hell, he knew everything he did growing up, he knew about all the people he’s killed, the people he’s hurt, the hearts he’s broken - Castiel knew about everything. And for some reason, he still liked Dean. He still wanted to be around him.

An honest to god Angel of the lord liked Dean. Thought he was worth protecting.

Sometimes, when he was feeling especially brave, Dean even thought that Cas might have loved him.

He’d catch glances out of the corner of his eye, get him to crack a smile at a dumb joke, convince him to stick around for a little bit and just hang out with Dean. And sometimes, it seemed like Castiel even enjoyed some of it.

Enjoyed being with Dean.

And then, the dumb bastard had to go and fuck everything up and god, Dean couldn’t even be that mad at him. He’s done worse for less.

He was just hurt. He felt gutted that night watching Cas trapped in a ring of holy fire. It felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

There’s not a single ounce of Dean, a single molecule, that wouldn’t do anything to have Cas back.

Dean turns down the side road the house is on and let’s all of the air out of his lungs, fighting the urge to scream.

The real tragedy in all of this is that Castiel had no idea how much he meant to Dean. How much Dean needed him, and how miserable he was without him around.

Losing Sam had felt similar to this, this big gaping hole in his chest that feels like it’s swallowing Dean alive, but Cas - losing Cas might have been worse. He lost Sam at once, one quick fowl swoop. He lost Cas in slow motion, and he lost him twice.

He spent the first four months with Lisa praying to Cas, begging him to come visit. He never did.

And Dean had mourned him right along with Sam, mourned the two most important people in his life. But then they both were back and Sam was weird, but Cas was distant.

Now, he knows it was because Cas couldn’t lie to him.

But when it was happening, it just... hurt.

Dean pulls the car into the overgrown bushes they’ve cleared out to hide it from the rest of the world. When he turns the engine off, he’s just frozen in his seat, staring at the dashboard again.

Grief is a heavy, tangible emotion on the best days. But Dean’s had nothing but bad days for a year now, and he’s tired of carrying that weight. 

He lets his head fall forward to rest on the steering wheel and lets all of the air out of his lungs, trying to calm down. 

“Hey Cas...” His voice sounds rough, like he’s been crying, but it’s probably just because he hasn’t said much in the last seven hours. Just enough to be polite. 

Dean licks his lips, his eyes closing, “I don’t know if you can hear me... probably not. I don’t think prayers can reach the dead.”

An owl hoots outside the car, cicadas sing in the distance, but Dean can only hear his heart pounding in his ears. 

“I’m drowning, man. I’m drowning out here. I don’t know what to do anymore, man, and I just...” Something that sounds close to a sob rips it’s way out of his chest, “I wish you were here. I wish you hadn’t worked with fucking Crowley, man, I wish you’d just told me what was going on. I could’ve helped you Cas, you know I would’ve done everything to help you.”

Dean leans back and thumps his head against the headrest a couple times, “You’re dead and maybe I’m insane, praying to a dead guy, but I don’t know what else to do. I was just angry when dad died, it never hurt this bad and I just-“ He has to suck his next breath in, a sob coming out more as a laugh, “I need help. I need back up. I need Bobby, I need you here, I need help, fuck.”

Everybody’s been trying to get him to talk about it, talk about how fucked up he’s been since Cas, but they have no idea. 

“I’m not strong enough to do this, man, I’m really not. I’ve been falling apart for years Cas, I was hanging on by a damn thread and then you just - you left. You died. You broke Sam, and I couldn’t even hate you for that.”

Dean punches the dashboard for lack of anything better to hit, gasping with the effort to take a normal breath. 

“I need help. I’m not strong enough, I can’t do this.”

And then, because he’s alone and maybe the buzz he’d worked up back at the shop has finally caught up to him, but Dean just lets himself cry. He cries until no more tears are coming out, and then he waits. 

He wipes his face off and laughs at himself, because he’s a grown man and he just cried for the better part of an hour. And now he has to go back in there and hope his brother is still asleep, and if he’s not he has to lie. 

Dean really, really doesn’t like lying to him. 

When his face is dry and he’s breathing normally again, he gets out of the car and shivers. There’s a ton of stars tonight and briefly, he wonders if the constellation Cas created is out tonight.

He doesn’t check.

The house is quiet when he sneaks back into it, none of their lights on. Sam’s sleeping bag is on the floor with his pillow covering his face, same as he left him.

Dean takes his jacket off and doesn’t bother unrolling his sleeping bag, just lays down on the shitty couch that’s in the corner and tries to go to sleep. He dozes for a little bit, his body passing out almost immediately.

Bobby sighs when he sees the freshly bandaged tattoo peeking out from under Dean’s sleeve. It’s the BB gun he gave Dean the first time he took the boys hunting, actually hunting. He always knew Dean was a sentimental sap.  


He’s not strong enough for the boys to see him, not yet, but he’s been trying to help out where he can.

If he’d known how much Dean was struggling... well.

“Idjit,” Bobby sighs fondly, brushing a hair off of his forehead. There’s nothing he can do about it in this moment. Tomorrow he’ll try again, and he’ll try with Sam, see if he can get the kid’s attention long enough to tell him to check on his brother.

In the morning, Dean will wake up with a blanket over him and his phone charging. But for now, the boys sleep, Bobby watching over them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, because Bobby was a reasonable adult, he only gave the boys BB guns when they were younger to shoot stuff with. Dean never got handed a real gun at Bobby’s house until he was thirteen.


	14. a feather on the back of his thigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not quite, but something like it.”
> 
> Castiel was stardust incarnate and Dean wanted nothing more than to taste him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think any real warnings apply here, but s7 dean is hard to write. the boi is depresso expresso and while I've been there, I STILL don't know how to articulate how that feels lol. so please, bare with me here! I really want to write the rest of these chapters as I get to the episodes I'm picturing them in/alongside in my rewatch, but s7 is like, SO sad and so hard for my empathetic ass to watch, and I'm not enjoying myself wahhh. hopefully once we get to s8 things will flow a little bit easier for my brain to write these - I really want to finish it! I've never written anything this long or like, this close to being planned out lol. I'm determined!

Dean can’t help thinking about what Jeffrey said back there in that warehouse.

 _I loved the connection, the power. And I loved him. Love of my life, actually_.

Are they the same? He hopes not.

It’s rare that Dean gets to go back to the same artist twice.

So when he finds himself with some time to kill and some feelings to choke down, he tells Sam that he’s going out and he’ll be back later.

They’re not far from the shop that he got his dog tags done at, and Dean’s kinda hoping the girl still works there. He doubts it, she was way too damn talented to be working in such a tiny town, but who knows?

He’s getting something either way.

He parks in the back parking lot and pulls a baseball cap on, just on the off chance someone from Sioux Falls is nearby. The feds still seem to think they’re dead, but damn if Dean isn’t going to risk that.

The shop looks the same when he walks in, and Dean finds himself hit with a sudden and overwhelming sense of deja vu.

They’re both a couple years older, maybe a little bit worse for the ware, but he vividly remembers being 27 and storming in here furious and hurt and seeing the same smiling face behind the counter.

Her smile is a little kinder, or maybe it’s just genuine this time, “Do I know you?”

Dean returns the smile and ducks his head for a moment, “Yeah.” He laughs, “You tattooed me a couple years back when I lost my dad.”

She narrows her eyes a little bit at him, the smile never fading, “Yeah, you’re ringing some bells...”

He laughs again, loosening up a little bit, “I’d show you but I don’t wanna flash everybody.” Dean winks, setting his hands on the counter, “I’m not that cheap of a date.”

Ashley snorts, setting her pencil down, “Fair enough. What can I do you for, vaguely familiar mystery man?”

Someone in the back yells something and Dean looks around, his smiling falling into something a little bit more guarded. He’s always kinda made a point to get appointments later in the day, if not right before shops close.

It’s not crowded in here, not by a long shot, but Dean’s never felt comfortable in big crowds. Especially in places where he’s used to feeling safe.

“I wanted to get a tattoo,” he starts, pulling a piece of motel stationary out of his pocket.

Ashley leans forward, holding a hand out, “You’ve come to the right place.”

Dean’s smile is a little sad when he shrugs, “It’s not a very good sketch. There’s a reason I get tattoos, I don’t give them...”

She grins at his joke and shrugs right back, looking at his attempt, “Ahh, this isn’t bad at all. I can totally do something with this.”

They talk for a little bit more about the color, the sizing, the placement and she asks for like twenty minutes to sketch something out.

Dean raps his knuckles on the counter in agreement and goes over to one of the armchairs and flops down into it. He’s exhausted, has been for months now, and he’s letting himself be a little selfish for once.

The small breakdown in the car had helped him not feel so heavy, so weighed down by everything, that over the last couple days he’s come to... maybe not quite a sense of peace with losing Cas, but that ache in his chest doesn’t feel quite so cumbersome.

For the first time in a while, Dean feels like he can breathe. Just a little bit.

It had occurred to him driving home from the last job that he’s got something for every important person in his life, except Cas. And the longer he thought about it, the less okay it felt.

Dean has never really seen Castiel’s wings. He’s seen the shadows of an approximation, something that his brain could process, but never the real thing.

Castiel had tried to tell him once about his true form and his wings, but Dean was drunk and he doesn’t remember much of anything from that night.

He does remember that Castiel’s wings are made up of light and energy, and the way Castiel had said, “I suppose the closest approximation of something you could understand would be lightning.”

Dean had set a hand on his shoulder and leaned too close to him, the whiskey making him brave, “You’re telling me your wings are made of lightning?”

Castiel’s smile was a real smile, one with teeth and everything, and Dean had forgotten how to breathe.

“Not quite, but something like it.”

Castiel was stardust incarnate and Dean wanted nothing more than to taste him.

He shakes himself out of that train of thought with a sigh, his foot bouncing below him.

Jimmy Novak had described being a vessel as being chained to a comet, and absurdly, Dean often wonders if he had any idea how apt that description was. Because Cas liked to remind him that he saw the stars being created, he saw the universe come to fruition, and that many constellations humans have named were made by angels.

(“I have created a constellation before, Dean.”

“No shit?”

“It’s quite beautiful, if I do say so myself.”

“Wow... you’re really old, huh?”

“Yes, Dean. Angels are infinite in our existence.”

“Okay, grandpa. Whatever you say.”)

Dean had thought he’d been in love before, but now he’s not so sure. He’d asked Sam about it one night when he was drunk, how he’d known he loved Jess, and he’d regretted it immediately.

(“I don’t really know, to be honest. I just sorta... woke up one day and it felt like it had always been there.”

“So, you didn’t know?”

“I mean, it was easy with Jess. I was so used to putting up these walls and having to explain stuff, and Jess just... fit. I didn’t have to try to be anybody else or be… different. It was like she’d always been there. It just... it sounds cheesy, but she just filled all the cracks I didn’t know were there. Having her in my life just made it easier.”

“Made what easier?”

“Everything.”)

He’d asked Bobby too, back before he even went to hell, how he’d known he loved Karen. It had taken way, way too many drinks for Bobby to answer him.

(“Aw hell Dean, I loved that girl from the moment I met her. It was like she just was supposed to be there the whole time.”

“When did you know?”

“When she totaled my dream car and destroyed another one, I was trying to restore on the same day. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight and she started to leave and I just... still wanted her around. I hated her in that moment, and the thought of her leaving me was the worst thing I’d ever felt.”)

The radio changes in the background of the shop and he sighs, twiddling with his thumbs and trying not to stick out too much.

He knows how John handled it, handled losing Mary, and he’s been trying – been trying not to compare this to that, but also been trying not to lose his damn mind with it.

Sam’s starting to fall apart again, Lucifer won’t leave him alone and Dean just… hates Cas, and would do anything to have him back again.

He’s fine. He’s doing fine. He wouldn’t summon a demon or anything to get him back.

A girl comes in and eyes Dean from her spot at the counter as she talks to the receptionist. She’s cute, in this abstract way that people too young for him are, but it hasn’t felt right since Lydia… y’know.

Dean lets his head loll back against the chair and sighs, trying not to fidget too much.

He’s had this idea in his head for well over a year, long before they found out about Crowley and Cas, of what Castiel’s wings looked like. He’d tried to draw it before, and Cas had just stared at the paper with the most unreadable expression.

That’s okay, because it’s just as much for the memory of him than it is the accuracy.

Ashley taps his shoulder, smiling kindly down at him, “Hey, I’m ready if you are, Dean.”

He nods, following her without saying much. There isn’t much to say, and this poor girl doesn’t deserve to have Dean’s whole sob story dumped on her. The little cubby area looks different than he remembers, but he wasn’t exactly in his right mind all those years ago.

Sometimes, he wonders what John would have to say about him now.

Generally, that thought is followed by a distinct lack of caring what his dad would think.

He undoes his buckle and slides his pants down before sitting on the edge of the table, holding his pants on his lap for lack of something better to do.

Ashley rolls over to him on the omnipresent stool every artist seems to have, smiling, “You wanted it on the back of your thigh, right? Not the front?”

Dean smiles tiredly, hopes it looks sincerer than it feels, “Yeah, that’d be good.”

He lays down on the table, making all the right noises to indicate he’s listening as she talks. The razor is a familiar tingling feeling at this point, the quick disinfectant even more so, and Dean feels some muscles in his back unclench when the stencil goes on.

She takes a picture of it to show him instead of making him get up (which he is grateful for), and he feels himself nodding, not really registering what his brain is saying. He hopes it is kind.

“So,” Ashley asks, a carefully neutral but definitely interested hum in her voice. “Who’s this for?”

Dean should be surprised that she can read him that easily, but he’s not.

He huffs as she starts tracing the stencil with her gun, smiling into his arms that are pillowing his head, “Am I that obvious?” She chuckles, but it’s exceedingly kind and gentle. Dean steadfastly ignores how much his chest aches.

“No, but I’ve been doing this for a while,” she hums. “It gets easy to spot the memorial tattoos after a while.”

Dean’s quiet for a moment, thinking, before he sighs, “It’s… for a friend.”

The room is quiet for a few minutes, save for the hum of the machine and the radio the shop is playing, and part of Dean hopes that she doesn’t ask him anything else. A louder part hopes that she never stops asking about Cas.

“Wanna talk about it?” She asks when she pauses to get some more ink.

He snorts a little bit, kinda shrugging his shoulders, “Not much to say. He was my best friend, and he lied to me, and now he’s dead.”

For her part, Ashley manages to keep her voice completely neutral with the questions, and Dean’s not sure if he’s grateful for it, or if he kinda hates her.

“You get a lot of tattoos for people who hurt you?”

Oh, if only she knew.

Dean’s arms swallow the sad grin that spreads across his face, “Nah, just the ones who are important.” He sighs after a moment, his face falling into a more thoughtful place.

“Cas was… he was a damn good guy. He came from a bad family, and he broke outta that place for me. He lied, yeah, but…” Something in his chest aches and he wonders if she can hear his chest rattle, “He was dumb for the right reasons, you know?”

Ashley chuckles, wiping off an area, “I know a couple people like that.”

“You ever cut ‘em off for it?”

She snorts, a genuine laugh floating out of her, “Hell yeah, man. I come from a family of addicts, dude, I’ve got all kinds of practice cutting people off for their bad decisions.”

Dean hums, “Been there. That’s hard.”

Ashley shrugs, her hands never missing a beat, “Doesn’t mean I don’t love them or I wouldn’t die for them tomorrow.”

He huffs a short laugh, remembering Sam detoxing, “Cas wasn’t like that though… he just got turned around and was too damn proud to ask for help. He thought I’d give him shit, but man, I would’ve helped him first. Him being safe was more important.”

There’s no doubt that Dean, like every other human on earth, loves a good ‘I told you so.’ But it’s been killing him that Cas really thought Dean wouldn’t have helped him.

“A proud man is always looking down on things and people; and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you,” Ashley mumbles.

Dean blinks a little bit, resisting the urge to turn around and gape at her, “C.S. Lewis?”

She grins, wiping off the tattoo again, “What, a girl can’t read?”

He snorts, not really saying anything else. His head is a little too loud, a little too full with all the things he thinks he could’ve done differently. Maybe if he’d just tried harder, maybe if he was more honest, maybe if he’d put aside his own ego and just tried – maybe, maybe, maybe.

Going through life with a whole lot of maybe’s isn’t helpful for anyone. Took Dean a long time to realize that.

They chat some while she finishes the line work and the shading, Dean’s mind flying unhelpfully flying through dozens of memories of Cas.

The look on Castiel’s face after Mary made the demon deal.

The look on his face in that dungeon with Alastair.

The look on his face in the hospital, in the dream, in the parking lot, in Chuck’s kitchen, in the back of the Impala, in Bobby’s kitchen, in Stull, in –

Castiel might have been in love with him.

And damn, if Dean doesn’t feel like the world’s biggest idiot only cluing in on that fact now.

Castiel might have loved him, and he’s dead and there’s nothing that Dean can do.

Probably better that he never said anything before, because everybody who Dean loves dies and Cas has done that enough for them. Dean’s always only been sorry that he wasn’t worth dying for.

“Alrighty,” Ashley’s bright, chipper voice interrupts him. “You’re all done.”

Dean’s stiff pushing himself up off the table, a product of getting old and being depressed, and he’s stiff walking over to the mirror in the corner. He turns, admiring the piece.

It’s more than he could’ve ever hoped for, and his smile is sad looking at it.

The feather is just piece parts of lightning strewn together to resemble something like a feather. It’s mostly black with white and purple mixed in there, and it almost looks like it’s moving when he moves. The realism is absolutely insane to see on his own skin, and it makes something deep in his being ache at the sight of it.

Yeah, that’s what Cas had been describing.

He goes through all the motions that are expected, lets her bandage him up and hugs her and pays and tips well. He promises to see her soon, though he doesn’t expect to come back here ever again.

The car is waiting in the parking lot when Dean leaves, his thigh a comfortable and familiar kind of sore that grounds him in his own skin.

Right now, he’s gotta go back to the room and hope that Sam is still standing in one piece. He’s been doing his best to hide it, how much he’s struggling now, but Dean’s smarter than his brother has ever given him credit for, and he notices. Sam’s not the only brother who has been desperately trying to keep his head on straight these last couple months.

While he drives, his brain absently drifts, sending as many pleas as he can out into the universe for help. From anyone, from everyone, he’s not picky at the moment.

He just… needs.

* * *

Emmanuel jolts up in bed, his heart racing as if he’s had a bad dream, though he’s pretty sure he’s only just laid down to go to bed.

Daphne sets a hand on his elbow, sighing tiredly, “Honey? It’s alright, it was just a bad dream.”

Yes, yes, that’s what it has to be, except… He pats a hand over his chest, like he’s searching for something he’s desperately forgotten.

She sits up next to him, concerned, “Honey? What’s wrong?”

He’s sweating, something in his chest throbbing with a feeling he can’t quite put a name to. “I don’t know,” he gasps out, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

 _I think somebody needs me_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't for the life of me find anything close to what I'm picturing and I can't figure out how to do it in photoshop, nor have I been able to draw it ever. [this](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6c7e535aecb2b7abbf57a860776841c1/8d1bc34d04c3a2d5-2c/s640x960/dc8900f7c320b6cb0ab02ee51c5fcdbe84d81420.gifv) is the closest I could get. but like actual lightning bolts, how they're all veiny and stuff, and the feather shape is super vague splotches of like... water color style tattoos? so it's not an obvious feather, but if you know that's what it's supposed to be, then it is. lmao this is so hard I can see it in my head and I don't know how to explain it any better
> 
> ETA 2/16/21: omg somebody drew the feather! [here!!](https://scontent.fatl1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.15752-9/151129984_423448855408317_1859495733506286347_n.jpg?_nc_cat=102&ccb=3&_nc_sid=ae9488&_nc_ohc=nOyrh78KxD8AX9tpKn3&_nc_ht=scontent.fatl1-1.fna&oh=64d32ded6a4805e5c7c1e6ccdce58dde&oe=605017A0) Thank you Vicky!


	15. Buffy’s stake but like, from the comics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s always down for a good shopping spree, not that he’d ever admit to that out loud, but he’s not in the right headspace for that much exposure to other people. And he’s never gotten his nails done professionally or anything, but he’s… well, no, that one he might be more against. Who knows how well they clean their tools and stuff?
> 
> His face scrunches up at the last thought, his brain flying over to the worst-case scenario like it always does (plague, croatoan virus, the flu, the bird flu, swine flu, ahhh).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here u go. slight warnings for just like, dean's general headspace still being kinda depressed. also, this chapter unintentionally allowed me to explore some other headcanons about dean that are only kinda headcanons because there's minimal canon discussion about them.
> 
> anyways, enjoy.

Charlie’s car is butt ugly and loud and an eyesore, but something about it really seems to make sense with her. It’s hard to picture her driving anything else, no matter how hard Dean tries to convince her to buy something, literally anything else.

“It’s a death trap, kid,” he complains, kicking the back tire with his boot. “I mean look at it, you’re lucky you made it out here alive!”

Charlie rolls her eyes, locking the car, “ _You’re_ lucky I made it, Winchester. A queen hanging out with her way less cool handmaiden out of the kindness of her heart?” She turns around grinning, her hair pulled up into buns on the top of her head, “Unheard of.”

He huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying for nonchalant, “Pfft, please. Less cool? You wish.”

She snorts and loops their arms together, tugging Dean off towards the building in front of them, “Whatever you say grandpa.”

Dean glares at the top of her head, letting her guide him wherever she wants, “I’m literally only a couple years older than you.” He hums, stepping up onto the sidewalk, “Wait, how old are you again?”

They dodge a group of teenagers and he could swear that Charlie’s eyes are twinkling when she looks at him. “A lady never tells.”

It’s nice getting to hang out with Charlie like this, like they’re real and normal people who, y’know, do things like hang out. And really hanging out, not like how hunters hang out by getting drunk at a shitty dive bar and _maybe_ playing pool if the pool table isn’t broken.

No, they’re going to see an honest to god movie, and then Charlie hinted at a special plan for later in the evening. Dean’s just been assuming it’s a bar of some sort, she wouldn’t stop talking about this retro gaming bar she’d found, but he’s tried every tactic in the book and she isn’t telling.

The movie theatre isn’t very crowded and while Charlie ends up handling everything, Dean’s struck with the sudden realization that he has no idea when the last time he was in a movie theatre was.

He took Ben to the movies a couple times, but it hadn’t really hit him until the smell of the popcorn, the vaguely sticky feeling of the floor and the nostalgia of everything, that he hasn’t actually been to see a movie since…

Dean laughs when Charlie hands him the ticket, a little disbelieving, “Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I saw a movie in theatres.”

She gapes at him, incredulous, “Are you telling me that you and Sam don’t ever just –“

He shrugs, handing the ticket over to the kid standing at the podium, “Yeah? I mean… hell Charlie, I don’t know. We’ve been a little busy the last couple years.”

For an otherwise pretty empty weekday late morning, the main atrium of the theatre is filled with enough noise to make Dean feel like he’s fifteen again. Sammy following behind him, the two of them sneaking whatever food Dean had managed to steal in, and staying at the theatre for hours sometimes.

He follows her when she gets in line, squinting at the menu. They’ve replaced at least parts of the menu with actual screens and, you know, Dean’s only a couple years older than Charlie but the glare makes him feel like he’s seventy.

“What the hell does that even say?”

Charlie snickers, poking Dean’s ribs, “What’s the matter grandpa, can’t read?”

He does not pout (shut up), but he does glare at her, “Shut up.”

Thankfully they step up to the counter next and Dean just orders himself a popcorn and a slushee (the blue one, he’s not a psychopath). Charlie gets herself a popcorn, some twizzlers and a cherry coke slushee (she might be a psychopath).

Talking to Charlie is easy, and she makes it easy to pretend that everything in Dean’s life isn’t fucking terrible.

Sure, Sam’s probably dying and Cas has fucked off to who knows where, but hey, Dean’s got a large popcorn and a blueberry slushee all to himself. And, he might have an actual friend here.

Isn’t that a crazy thought?

Benny’s a friend, sure, but he can’t really see himself hanging out with him.

Cas is a friend, obviously, but there’s so much history behind that friendship (purgatory just made it more complicated) that it’s hard to hang out sometimes.

Sam’s a friend, theoretically, but it’s not the same when it’s your little brother.

They chat quietly until the movie starts and Dean leans back in his seat, setting his feet on the empty chair in front of him. He can practically hear how hard Charlie rolls her eyes at that, but sue him, okay? He’s putting his damn feet up.

* * *

The movie’s good.

“That scene, with the –“ Dean vaguely gestures at his head, his popcorn bucket tucked under his arm. Charlie laughs, delighted and on a sugar high from her slushee, “Yes! That was SO cool.”

“Oh my god,” Dean stumbles, a hand coming up to clutch his chest after he drops the bucket in the trash. “And the way they did the thing, with the two of them?” He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head fondly, “I didn’t think that was actually gonna happen.”

Charlie tosses her cup into the trash and pumps her fists in the air when it lands, “Oh bitch I know, you kept hitting my arm during that one.”

Absurdly, he feels his cheeks flush a little bit. “I was into it!”

The smile Charlie tosses him over her shoulder is kind, zero judgement there, “It was cute!”

Dean squints, following after her as she walks back into the lobby, “I am not cute, Charlie.”

She wiggles her eyebrows, pushing the door open as she walks backwards, “I think there are plenty of people who would disagree with you.”

Truthfully, he should probably laugh but he feels like Charlie’s dancing around trying to get him to talk about Cas again, and Dean just doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth today.

“Alright kiddo, yuck it up,” he grumbles, playing at more annoyed than he is. “I’ll show you cute when I chop off something’s head.”

A soccer mom stares at them in horror as they walk past, and Dean smiles sheepishly, offering her a salute, “Howdy.”

Charlie cackles, the sugar still making her a little bit louder and bouncier than normal.

Some morose part of Dean’s brain wonders if this is what it was like for Sam, the handful of times Dean was able to scrounge up enough cash for him to go to a movie with the kids from school. He hopes so.

The sky threatens snow over them and Dean shivers a little bit, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Alright Chuckles, where are we off to next?”

The movie theatre is in a strip mall, but it’s not really a strip mall. It’s in this big open circle type of deal, and there’s dozens of shops all around them. Families are starting to trickle in, or maybe they’re nannies with kids, and adults who are playing hooky from their jobs. It’s silly, he knows, how hard it is for him to feel relaxed in normal places like this. Like movie theatres, malls, busy parks.

He’s never really felt like a person, like a real boy, and being normal feels like trying to do a choreographed dance. Sure, he can figure out the steps, but it just never looks right on him. On his good days he can play it off and make it charming, but right now, Dean just feels like everybody’s looking at him.

A hand settles on his arm, startling out of the slightly panicked train of thought.

Charlie’s smiling at him but it’s a little concerned this time, “Where’d you go, Dean?”

He blinks at her and tries to laugh it off, shrugging under her concerned stare, “Just wondering what this super-secret place you’re taking me to is.” He knows his tone is about as convincing as Dolly Parton’s hair, but he holds his bluff, grinning down at her.

It’s a little unnerving how easy Charlie reads him, but what can you do?

For her part, Charlie seems to decide to let it pass for the moment, “Well, we gotta make a quick stop first.”

There’re enough clothing stores around here, and one or two nail salons, that he puts up the tiniest bit of a fight when she starts pulling him, “What kinda stop…?”

Charlie rolls her eyes, both of her hands grabbing his wrist so she can pull him easier, “Nothing to threaten your delicate masculinity, my good sir.” Her smile when she glances over her shoulder is gentler, “I promise you’ll like it.”

Dean’s always down for a good shopping spree, not that he’d ever admit to that out loud, but he’s not in the right headspace for that much exposure to other people. And he’s never gotten his nails done professionally or anything, but he’s… well, no, that one he might be more against. Who knows how well they clean their tools and stuff?

His face scrunches up at the last thought, his brain flying over to the worst-case scenario like it always does ( _plague, croatoan virus, the flu, the bird flu, swine flu, ahhh_ ).

They stop walking abruptly, and Dean damn near runs into Charlie because of it.

“Jesus, Char, watch where you’re going, I could’ve –“

He stops and looks up at the sign, a bizarre mix of appreciation and embarrassment coloring his face as he reads it. Fuck, why can this girl read him so easily?

Charlie grins, bouncing a little bit on her feet when she nudges him, “What do you think, huh?”

She gestures at the shop, doing some jazz fingers with it, “Pretty sick, right?”

And yeah, it’s pretty sick. It’s a whole ass Star Wars themed tattoo shop, and it’s almost enough to distract Dean from the bubble of anxiety that’s building in his chest.

Oh right, this is why he doesn’t go out and do things.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, trying not to sound like he’s freaking out. “Pretty sick.”

Charlie pulls him inside the building with her, a cheery bounce in her step that on anybody else would drive Dean up a tree. For whatever reason, it’s not quite as annoying when it’s Charlie.

“Hey, I have an appointment for Willow Summers?”

Dean narrows his eyes at the back of her head, already feeling a small smile pulling at his lips.

The smile stays in place until Charlie’s done and she turns around. It’s apparently enough of a difference from the rest of the day that she frowns, “What are you smiling about?”

He chuckles, his hands finding their way into his pockets again, “Nothin, _Willow_.”

Charlie rolls her eyes, playfully shoving him, “You know as well as I do Winchester, that aliases are important.”

They bicker back and forth for a little bit, Dean relaxing the more that they do and completely forgetting about all the civilians around them. Maybe he’ll never feel like a real boy, but it’s easier to pretend when someone else is with him.

“So,” Charlie says after a couple minutes, poking Dean’s calf with her shoe. “You gonna get one?”

His eyebrows make a valiant effort to fly off of his head, “Who? Me?”

She smirks, “Don’t think I didn’t see your ink back at the kingdom, handmaiden.”

And, well, here’s the thing about all of Dean’s tattoos: they mean something. They’re all piece parts of him, that make him who he is, and he always feels unreasonably naked when people see them. One of the most important parts of being a hunter is protecting yourself and your identity, and Dean just wears the most vulnerable parts of him literally on his sleeve.

(Yes he knows that’s kind of insane, no he doesn’t care that you think so too.)

He ducks his head, hoping Charlie won’t see the blush spreading over his cheeks, “I dunno. Maybe?” Dean kicks at the carpet they’re standing on, “I don’t have any ideas.”

Charlie shrugs, “Tattoos don’t always have to mean something. Sometimes they’re just dumb.”

There’s some deeper wisdom buried somewhere in there, but he won’t dig for it.

“Still doesn’t solve the not having any ideas problem,” he reminds her, shrugging.

For all of a minute, they’re both quiet while they think, and then Charlie’s face lights up like Dean just told her the hottest girl in the room is a lesbian. He’s pretty sure it’s a dangerous face.

“Dude!” She’s bouncing a little bit on the balls of her feet, “Buffy! I know you loved Buffy, Winchester, how could you not?!”

Some traitorous part of Dean’s brain remembers that one birthday he spent drunk in a motel room, alone and watching a Buffy marathon. How miserable he’d been, how sick he’d been the next day, how much he had just not cared about his own wellbeing back then.

The more reasonable part of his brain reminds him of the marathons he’s caught where he was sober, and happy, and how much he loves the show.

“…maybe,” he concedes, fighting back a smile. “What would I even get?”

Charlie pulls her phone out of her pocket with a flourish and types something for all of a couple seconds before holding it out triumphantly. “This!”

And right there, on the screen, is the perfect dumb tattoo idea for Dean.

The grin that splits his face open turns into a laugh all of a sudden, and he’s nodding enthusiastically, “Fuck, yeah, okay.” So stupid.

Charlie sweet talks the receptionist into getting Dean a walk-in spot with her artist, right after Charlie’s done, and then before he knows what’s happening, they’re being pulled back to a room.

The artist is a petite lesbian (again, there’s a joke in here somewhere, Dean’s too tired to try and find it) and her and Charlie squeal over the sketch sitting on the desk, and then squeal about Dean’s tattoo. He’s momentarily frozen when they turn to squeal with him, but he manages to hold up his hands and offer a weak, “Ahhh!”

It seems to appease them.

He’s perfectly comfortable to sit back and listen while the two of them chat, about everything and nothing. It’s weirdly comforting, to listen to a new friend talk to a complete stranger, and they both make sure to include Dean as much as they can.

Caroline, the artist, provides context for him as she recounts her hookup stories. Charlie provides context for some of the board game stories that they share together.

It’s nice.

Before he knows it, Charlie’s done and all bandaged up and it’s his turn to lay down on the table. Charlie hands over her phone with the picture and Caroline draws up a sketch in no time.

The two of them debate about the placement, not really asking Dean for any input (he doesn’t mind, he doesn’t really have any ideas himself) and they settle for the inside of his arm.

“That way,” Charlie explains reasonably, “You can hide it easy.”

Caroline makes an ‘ahh’ noise, “You got an office job or something, Dean?”

Both him and Charlie choke on a strangled laugh, shaking their heads aggressively at the question. It takes him a minute to work up a smile that isn’t swallowed by a laugh, “No, I just…”

“Dean leads a life of crime,” Charlie supplies when he trails off. She wiggles her eyebrows, artfully playing off the truth as a hilarious joke. Caroline buys it.

She gives him a minute once they start tattooing, but when it’s clear that Dean isn’t going offer much to the conversation, Charlie just picks up right where they left off with her tattoo.

He shoots her a grateful look, and just chimes in when he’s addressed or when it’s appropriate.

It’s nice, having someone be able to read him so easily, no matter how much it kinda freaks him out. The only other person who could do this was Cas, and well –

 _Nope_. Dean has to resist the urge to shake his head, _Not gonna think about that right now_.

The whole thing is done in thirty minutes total, from Dean’s butt in the chair to Dean’s arm being wrapped up and cleaned. He laughs a little bit when Caroline pulls him into a hug and promises to come back and show her how it healed.

He won’t, but she doesn’t need to know that.

It feels like he blinks and they’re standing outside on the sidewalk with people pushing past them, the whole shopping center lit up with the evening crowd. Dean blinks as some kid shoves past him, literally shoves him, and he almost flinches with the way Charlie’s looking at him.

“What?” He huffs, defensive.

“Nothing,” Charlie smiles, sounding unconvincing. “We don’t have to go to the bar I wanted to show you, you know. We can go some other time.”

“I…” Dean lets out a breath as another person shoves past him, shaking his head a little bit, “Yeah, I uh… I think I’m tired.” Really, he just needs to get out of here, away from all these people, because his brain won’t stop screaming.

Charlie nods and helps guide him back over to their cars, not really saying anything.

Again, Dean’s struck with this mix of feeling grateful and terrified that she just gets it.

“Hey,” he says when they get to their cars, frowning. “Wanna come over to the bunker? Sammy got wifi set up yesterday. We don’t have a TV yet, but…” Dean shrugs, aiming for nonchalance, “I can make dinner?”

Charlie smiles, her face lighting up, “Only if you make burgers.”

“Of course, I’m gonna make burgers, what am I, some kinda heathen?”

“Alright old man, let’s go.”

“Charlie, seriously, I’m only like six years older than you.”

“Six years and in need of some bifocals, apparently.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry Dean, you’re not my type.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the cartoony twisted version of buffy's stake on the inside of his arm, and it's pretty small, I don't remember if I included that? think a flash tattoo. v cute.


	16. beloved in enochian on his hip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But this is Dean’s life, isn’t it?
> 
> And Dean doesn’t get what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: some discussion of suicidal ideation/planning, but otherwise should be good. 
> 
> The letter at the end starts with Beloved in enochian, but I couldn't copy the actual characters so it had to be a screenshot. That's what the tattoo looks like, but in white ink.

Purgatory had been… a lot.

This thing that he does or doesn’t have with Cas, depending on the day you ask him, has always been complicated. It’s only gotten more complicated since they averted the apocalypse (the first time), and then Dean had to go and make it… worse.

To be fair to him, it’s not like he was alone in this. That’s certainly evident the longer that Dean stares at the note in his hands.

It’s not like he thought that Cas didn’t… you know. If he did, he could’ve just like, punched Dean when he kissed him. Instead, Cas had just stared at him for a minute and then practically jumped his bones.

There was no respite in purgatory, no real true moment(s) of rest, but there were snippets. Snippets where they were able to sneak moments, and where Dean had let his own weaknesses win.

Cas had almost died – again.

Some monster came out of nowhere, Dean wasn’t even paying attention, and nearly took Cas out. Benny had been paying more attention than him and had swung on instinct, chopping the fucker’s head off and saving Castiel’s life.

An absolutely feral part of Dean’s brain had only registered ‘Castiel’ and ‘dead again’ and instead of reacting like a normal person, he’d pulled Cas into a kiss.

It was bruising and violent and absolutely fucking terrifying.

“Cas,” he’d growled in between the kiss. “Don’t fucking die on me again.”

“Maybe you should pay more attention where we’re going,” Cas had snapped back at him.

Purgatory was weird. They could die, sure, but not really. Monsters could hurt them, sure, but if they died, they’d just end up back here. Cuts healed, bruises disappeared and wounds sewed themselves back together, eventually.

Dean had bruises the shape of Castiel’s hands on his hips for days.

Benny had said something about needing to get a move on, Dean really hadn’t been listening, and then some vamps found them and, well, they had to put the kissing thing on hold.

Except, after that there weren’t very many moments they could steal. It felt like every time Dean tried to talk to Cas or to kiss him again (or do more than that) another monster showed up or Benny was there or Cas ran away from him or, or, or –

They haven’t talked, not even since they came back, and it’s been killing him.

He’d thought when they had found Cas that they could talk about it, talk about everything that happened, talk about the kiss, talk about how Cas kissed him back. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not really, and neither does Cas, but they _have_ to talk about it.

Because Dean’s been walking around for years now apparently in love with an angel, and he’d really like to either shit or get off the pot.

But this is Dean’s life, isn’t it?

And Dean doesn’t get what he wants.

Castiel isn’t himself, again. Castiel isn’t himself, and Dean’s dying with it, and he wishes he’d never kissed him in the first place.

Maybe it would make all of this easier, maybe it would hurt less if he hadn’t put the pieces together back before purgatory. He knows that’s bullshit, logically, and yet he can’t help but feel like it would be easier.

Ignorance is bliss, right?

Dean sighs, falling backwards on the bed with a slight wince as the saniderm pulls his skin.

It’s fine, really it is, Dean knows it’s not his fault. Dean’s fine, really.

(Except he’s not fine, he’s never really fine, and he hates this.)

It was dumb. It was dumb and desperate and selfish, and honestly Dean can’t really bring himself to regret it. Maybe he’s embarrassed, a little, but he doesn’t regret it.

There’s so little that Dean does for himself, this is one of them, and maybe he’s an idiot for still loving Cas, but he’s tried not loving him and it doesn’t seem to work. He’s kind of a charming son of a bitch.

Castiel’s handwriting looks good on his hip, if he says so himself. The white ink was the suggestion of the artist and Dean’s glad he suggested it, because it’s exactly the kind of subtle he was hoping for.

The last thing he needs is for Sam to catch a glimpse of it and… y’know. **_Know_**.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, groaning to himself at the thought of his brother. His wonderful, idiot brother who Dean loves more than anything, and currently wants to throttle.

It would be nice to get a break, just a single fucking break, but again, when’s anything good ever happened in Dean’s life?

Can Dean handle Sam and the trials and stuff by himself? Debatable, at this point, but probably.

Does he want to handle it by himself?

That’s a different story, isn’t it?

He’s not getting any younger, none of them are, and some insane part of himself wants nothing more than Dean to settle down. Quit hunting, open a B&B, take up interior design, get a job as a mechanic, _something_. Who knows? Maybe Charlie can hook him up with solid enough ID that he can adopt a kid.

(A different traitorous part of his brain whispers about who would be raising these children with him, and Dean thumps his head back against the bed with purpose.)

There was a minute there, when he came back from purgatory, that he seriously thought about ending it.

He’d failed Cas (again), Sam didn’t care about him (clearly), Kevin (oh jesus, _Kevin_ ) … Dean had felt like there was nothing he could do right, that maybe things would be better if he wasn’t around.

But the universe had done what it always does when that thought crosses his mind and hands him some kid that needs his help, some innocent who needs saving. And because he’s Dean Winchester, and he always needs to be the hero of everything, he goes and forgets his plans.

“Hey Cas,” he starts, whisper quiet. “You got your ears on?”

Dean sighs, letting his eyes close, “I got your letter, buddy. It’s…” He smiles, mostly to himself, “You sure know how to sweet talk a guy, huh Cas?”

He chuckles, his heart not quite in it, “Where were these moves when you were here?” The laugh trails off easily, the big cavernous hole in his chest that had started to close slowly opening up again.

“Cas, I’m not mad. I just…” Dean sighs, rubbing a hand over his face again, “Buddy, I’m really tired of doing this dance. Y’know, this whole…” His chest aches, “Choreographed thing we’ve got going on. Where you’re too scared to say anything, and I’m too scared to say anything, and around and around the merry-go-round we go.”

That part of Dean that can’t stop thinking about how he’s getting older, how his knees ache more now and it takes him longer to recover from a hangover, can’t stop screaming about how much he misses Cas.

“I, uh…” He licks his lips, frowning at the ceiling, “I wish you were here, man. I…” Dean cringes, “I miss you, dumbass.”

The admonishment is said with affection and the way his heart squeezes in his chest makes Dean dizzy with it, “I meant what I said back there, man. In the crypt, I meant it.”

It feels like something’s squeezing his lungs now, some panic settling in, and Dean has to remind himself to breathe through it, “I… I do need you, Cas. I need you more than you know, man.”

I need you here, with me.

I need you in the backseat of the Impala.

I need your help keeping myself together.

I need you, please, like I’ve never needed anybody else.

He doesn’t say all of that, but he thinks Cas knows, can sense it. Sometimes he thinks Cas can read his mind, and maybe he can, but at least he can feel how much Dean means all of this.

“So please,” Dean let’s all of the air out of his lungs, trying to relax. “Please man, just come home, okay? We can fix this. Whatever it is man, we can fix it, you and me, together. Let me help Cas, please?”

There’s no answer, because of course there isn’t, and Dean sighs, rolling onto his side and staring at Mary’s picture across the way. He’s lost too many people in his life, too damn many, and he doesn’t know if he can survive losing Cas one more time.

Dean’s eyes drift close with the thought, his exhaustion winning out over his grief.

* * *

In a Biggerson’s on the other side of the country, Castiel sighs over his cup of coffee. He misses Dean, misses him more than he has any words to say, but he can’t go home, not yet.

He owes Dean everything, he owes Dean his life and more, and Castiel hopes that the letter brings him some comfort, some clarity if the angels catch up to him. He’d hoped to see Dean again, but the angels are faster than he gave them credit for, and he hasn’t had time to even call him safely. It hurts, and it hurts knowing that Dean’s hurting, but this is more important.

The aching loneliness seeps deep into their bond, so deep that Cas can feel it long after the prayer ends and it makes him furious. He’s furious that Naomi did this to them, that she can tear them apart so easily, that she hurt Dean. That she made him hurt Dean.

He wants to be there for him, wants to help him, wants wants wants –

His waitress smiles down at him, repeating her question, “Want another refill darlin?”

Castiel tries to offer her a sincere smile, nodding, “Please.”

Any moment now, he will have to leave this location. The angels are getting faster every hour it feels like, and he can feel them closing in on him. He’ll have to run soon if he wants to survive.

“Excuse me,” Castiel starts, licking his lips. “Where are we, exactly?”

The waitress laughs like she thinks it’s a joke, for just half a second, and then her face falls when she realizes he’s serious.

“We’re in Washington, honey. You feeling okay?”

Castiel frowns into his coffee, nodding, “Yes. Thank you.”

Normally he would wait until the humans aren’t looking but the angels just landed outside, and he has enough wherewithal to smile apologetically at her, “I’m sorry.”

The napkin that had been sitting on his lap floats to the ground.

* * *

,

_There is so much I wish I could say, but this letter would be pages and pages long. My hope – my plan is to see you again, but in case I don’t I needed you to know: I do. I always have. I always will._

_Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Please do not blame yourself for anything. These were my choices. Free will, remember?_

_I spent millions of years without purpose, without joy, without understanding, Dean. You gave me everything. I can’t thank you enough for that. I will see you soon_.

Castiel


	17. a tiny Enterprise Charlie drew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first break they get with everything, Dean breaks.
> 
> Castiel is there and he catches him, just like he always does, and it’s more than Dean will ever deserve. From anyone, let alone Cas. He tells him as much and Castiel just shushes him, handing him another thing to throw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for: post mark sadness, dean's general headspace, charlie being dead, etc. I'm too tired to really go into detail here but do you ever cry about dean and the mark? me too.
> 
> set some time in s11. yes, I am assuming that dean has made him more than one mix tape. as you do.

The first break they get with everything, Dean breaks.

Castiel is there and he catches him, just like he always does, and it’s more than Dean will ever deserve. From anyone, let alone Cas. He tells him as much and Castiel just shushes him, handing him another thing to throw.

They’re back behind the bunker and Dean’s been running around pretending that he’s fine without the Mark, pretending he doesn’t feel like he’s wearing somebody else’s skin.

It was a note Charlie left in his room that did him in.

He yells to cover the sob that claws its way out of his chest and tosses another beer bottle at a tree. It shatters and Dean feels like he breaks even more with it.

“Dean,” Castiel sighs, handing him another one. “Do you want to talk about this?”

He laughs, angry and bitter, and tosses the next beer bottle like it’s a fastball and he’s in the MLB. It hits the dead center of the tree, exploding.

“No,” he grits out, holding out a hand for another one. He hasn’t looked at Cas once since he found him in his room and helped him walk outside. He’s scared of what he might see.

Dean is poison, and that’s not news to anyone, but now Charlie’s dead and the Darkness is free, and it’s never felt so potent before. It’s never felt so tangible, so real, as it has these last couple weeks, and it has taken every ounce of willpower Dean has to not crumble under the weight of it.

So Castiel lets him cry and scream, pretends to ignore the crying, and passes him empty beer bottles until the recycling bin is empty.

“Another one,” Dean chokes out, holding his hand out again.

Instead of another bottle, a hand settles in his and Dean yanks his hand away.

Neither one of them says anything for a couple minutes, and the only sound that either one of them can hear is Dean’s breathing, trying to get everything under control.

He almost killed Castiel, Castiel almost died for him again, and Dean can’t – he can’t touch him. He’s not allowed to touch him. He doesn’t deserve to touch him.

But Dean’s weak, and he’s selfish, and all he wants to do is fall into Cas and fall apart, fully.

Eventually, Castiel sighs and sets a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “Dean… would you like me to drive?”

He nods, wordless, and follows behind Cas as they walk back through the trees to the garage. Dean climbs into the passenger seat of his car, the truck’s engine startling to life being almost more comforting than it has any real reason to be.

The radio is on, but Dean can’t hear it, doesn’t want to hear it, all he can hear is his own breathing.

Castiel knows, because Dean couldn’t hide it, but he wasn’t wholly human with the Mark. He wasn’t quite a demon, either, but he was somewhere in between. Not quite alive, definitely not dead, and all the human parts of him felt like they were on mute that whole time.

Being cured was overwhelming in the worst ways. Everything was brighter, louder, smells were stronger, sensations were more – every part of Dean was muted as a demon. Losing the Mark was almost worse, because some of the effects lingered but this time Dean’s soul wasn’t being drowned out by the constant, vile screaming.

It’s so fucking quiet without the Mark, and damn if Dean doesn’t kind of miss it.

“You know,” Castiel starts, frowning as they fly down the highway. “It’s not your fault, Dean.”

He laughs, both because it’s funny and it’s such an absurd thing to say. His head thumps against the passenger side window, Dean’s chest aching, “Don’t, Cas. Don’t lie to me.”

The car is quiet again for a few more exits, the only sound being the tires on the pavement below them. It almost makes Dean fall asleep.

“You’re still a good man, Dean,” Castiel tries, his voice barely audible. “I wish you could see that.”

“Good men don’t get their family killed,” he grumbles, not opening his eyes. “A good man would not have beat you half to death.”

“What does that make you, then?”

Dean wants to laugh, but he doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore. “With the Mark? A monster. Now?” He smiles to himself, bitter, “Poison.”

Castiel sighs, his face hard as he glances over at Dean, “A monster would have just killed me.”

He shrugs, not sure what to say.

He could tell Cas how hard the Mark had been screaming at him to do it, to kill him, to just finish him off – but he knows that. Castiel had seen it, seen the silent force throbbing on his arm the whole time, just as Dean had seen Castiel’s Grace flaring with every hit. Reaching out to him, to his soul, trying to save it.

“Just drive, please.”

“Alright.”

* * *

Castiel wakes him up when they stop for gas. His hands hover over Dean’s arm, like they want to touch him, but they don’t. It makes him equally sad and grateful.

“Where would you like to go?” He asks eventually, his arms finally resting on the door to the truck as he leans closer to the window.

Dean rubs at his neck, hovering far too close to Cas’ orbit for his comfort, “Dunno. Thought you had a destination in mind.”

A truck blares on the highway across from them, the gas station seeming to come to life with it too. Dean’s not sure where they ended up pulling over, or how long it’s been since they left the bunker, but it doesn’t matter, not really.

A finger taps gently, damn near reverently, on the watch band that hides his tattoo.

Something in Dean’s chest unclenches, all too comfortable and uncomfortable with how well Cas knows him. It’s dumb, it’s not a great coping mechanism, but it’s better than drinking himself to death.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, glancing up at Cas for half a second to flash him a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

The gas pump clicks, the tank full, and Dean digs a pair of sunglasses out of the glovebox while Cas finishes up. He manages to muster up a smile when he slides into the car even though Dean feels like he should be climbing the walls with it.

Whatever the hell ‘it’ is, even. He wishes he knew.

The drive is damn near pleasant with the windows down, the fall air floating in and the songs playing on the radio.

It takes Dean a while before something hits him. “Hey,” he asks, turning in his seat to face Cas. “Is this the tape I gave you?”

Castiel’s smile is near sheepish, and it makes Dean want to yell how much he loves him.

“Yes,” he answers, shifting in his seat a little. Castiel frowns at the road, thinking, “I… quite enjoy it.”

Dean swallows, suddenly nervous, “Oh.” He looks out the front window, shifting to sit normally again, “Cool.” The car’s quiet for a few more moments as the song ends, the last chords playing out softly.

“I could make you another one, if ya want.”

If anybody asks, Dean’s heart does _not_ do a flip flop when he sees Castiel’s smile.

“I would like that very much, Dean.”

* * *

The shop they pull into is a newer one, and Dean lets Castiel take the lead since this was his idea.

And frankly, a grieving Dean is not necessarily fit for public consumption. Especially since he’s not so much grieving as he is drowning in his life, and how wrong it feels to not have the Mark.

Some part of him thinks that it should surprise him, how easily Castiel conducts himself amongst humans now, but it doesn’t. He’s not sure if the feeling in his chest is pride or fondness or guilt. Maybe it’s all three.

Somehow, he misses Castiel asking him a question, but then there’s a hand reaching into his back pocket and pulling out Charlie’s note. A hand settles on his shoulder blades after the artist is holding the note, and Dean’s helpless to do anything other than lean into it.

He’ll hate himself tomorrow, or maybe even later today, but he feels a little too raw to care today. Castiel can touch him if he wants. Dean would prefer he hit him, but he’ll take whatever touches he can get.

The hand guides him back to the table, Dean moving on autopilot as he shucks off his layers, his right arm almost presenting itself.

He watches as the artist shaves and cleans the spot, right there at the bend of his elbow, right where you won’t be able to see it unless he wants you to.

That day a couple years ago, back before Dean went to the darkside, Charlie had drawn a little Enterprise on a scrap piece of paper in the bunker. It was taped to the note Dean found and he just… is so damn mad, all the time.

He’s furious with himself for dragging Charlie even further into this mess.

He’s furious with Sam for dragging Charlie into curing him from the Mark.

He’s furious with Cas for not stopping Sam.

He’s pissed, damn near livid, with himself for accepting the Mark in the first place.

It would’ve been easier, if they’d just let him die.

Castiel’s hand squeezes his own, gentle and grounding, while he listens to the artist talk about… something. Dean’s head is buzzing with everything he’s guilty about, and now it’s buzzing about the hand that’s holding his too.

God, he always knew he was poison, but he kinda hoped that Charlie of all people would be spared.

The artist is quick and the first time Dean opens his mouth in front of her, it’s to say thanks. She seemed surprised, and Dean hopes that Cas hadn’t been telling people he’s mute or something.

Although, that would probably be better than the truth, which is just that sometimes trauma steals his voice and even as a grown man, he can’t stop it.

“Hey Cas,” Dean chokes out when they’re in the parking lot.

His hand is on the handle of the truck, and every single piece part of Dean wants to climb across the front seat and pull Castiel into a kiss. He can’t, and he won’t, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it when he leans slides into the car.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel hums, leaning against his open door with one hand on the roof.

“I’m…” The rest of the words die right there in the back of his throat, getting drowned out by the butterflies threatening to move into his chest.

 _I’m sorry. I’m grateful you’re here. I’m not deserving of your forgiveness. I’m desperately, hopelessly in love with you, please don’t ever leave me again_.

Castiel smiles, ducking his head, and Dean wonders if he can read minds. He doesn’t think so.

He doesn’t say anything, he just gets in the truck and starts towards home.


	18. A ‘C’ in enochian on the webbing of his ring finger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ever feels like enough with them. Dean’s laid his soul bare to Cas, literally and figuratively, a hundred times over and he just doesn’t seem to get it. For a long time, he thought angels just couldn’t love anybody, not really, but… something keeps drawing him to Cas. Maybe it’s the profound bond they share or whatever, maybe it’s just hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s11 finale setting, the C is in white ink, dean's a big sappy weirdo, we love him

It’s dumb, really.

It’s dumb, it’s weird, and Dean doesn’t know why it comes up now, except that it does.

There might be a way to defeat Amara, to save Chuck, to save the world, really, and Cas knows – well, he doesn’t _know_. He doesn’t know that Dean’s been a mess the whole time Lucifer had him in his clutches, but he knows that they care.

“But you're always there, you know? You're the best friend we've ever had. You're our brother, Cas. I want you to know that.”

Right, Dean sighs, shifting in his seat thinking back on their conversation. _Brother_. Sure.

Him and Sam have gotten accused of a lot of weird shit over the years, but Dean’s never thought about kissing his brother. He can’t stop thinking about kissing Cas, especially now.

If the world’s gonna end, and this plan is probably a suicide mission, what’s he got to lose?

“Hey,” Dean grunts out, poking Castiel’s arm without looking away from the road. “Cas, you know…” He licks his lips, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel, “I’m really glad you’re back.”

Castiel smiles at him and ducks his head, “I am… really glad to be back, Dean.”

He chances a look over at him, his heart stuttering in his chest for a moment. On an impulse, Dean pulls the Impala off onto the side of the road. The shoulder is barely big enough for Baby to fit, and god help them if another car comes this way, but he’s gotta –

Dean turns to face Castiel on the bench as soon as the car is in park, his right leg fully on the seat now, “I…”

All the words he was going to say die on his tongue when he sees the look Cas is giving him.

It reminds Dean of Purgatory, that half a second in between Dean kissing him and Cas kissing him back, and every single part of him aches to pull Cas in. To kiss him again, to make him feel better, to comfort him, to force him to talk about everything, to take care of him –

Castiel sets a hand on his knee, startling him out of his panic, “Dean, we should be heading back to the bunker.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, not quite in a laugh. He ducks his head for a moment, swallowing down his nerves, “Yeah, I uh… I just gotta show you something.”

Really, Cas is right, this can wait – they’ve got bigger things to worry about right now, bigger things to deal with, but… he’s spent the last couple months thinking about this. About what he’d say if they ever got Cas back in one piece, if he ever had the opportunity again.

Again, the words seem to escape him. Maybe they die on his tongue, maybe they never made it past his brain, maybe his mouth just won’t say them because they’re not enough.

Nothing ever feels like enough with them. Dean’s laid his soul bare to Cas, literally and figuratively, a hundred times over and he just doesn’t seem to _get_ it. For a long time, he thought angels just couldn’t love anybody, not really, but… something keeps drawing him to Cas. Maybe it’s the profound bond they share or whatever, maybe it’s just hope.

But hell, if the world is ending today, shouldn’t Dean try?

So, he grabs Castiel’s hand and sets his own down onto the palm, his ring finger jutting out a little further.

“Dean, I don’t…” Maybe he’s imagining things, but Dean thinks his voice cracks, just for half a second.

“Just,” he tries, his own voice shaking. “Just look.”

There’s an enochian letter there, right on the webbing of his fingers, and he can pinpoint the exact second Cas sees it by the shocked puff of air he lets out.

“I just…” Dean has to resist the urge to squirm when Castiel picks his hand up, examining it closer, “I don’t know. I needed… _something_.” Something that he could see, something that he could feel, something that other people could see, maybe, if they looked long enough.

Castiel chuckles a weak, surprised laugh, too stunned to exude any particular emotions.

“I meant it,” Dean tries again, his free hand settling on Cas’ shoulder. “I’m sorry that I fell down on the job so bad that you just…” He huffs something that doesn’t quite count as a laugh, “I thought you knew, man. How much you mean to us. To me.”

“That’s a C,” he asks, not quite a question. Castiel’s face is still a little awed, and that’s more than Dean’s poor sap of a heart can take.

“Yeah,” he laughs this time, smiling. “Yeah buddy, it is.”

“Is it…” Castiel frowns, looking up at him, “For me?”

Jesus, either Dean is really bad at this or Cas is even more dense than he gave him credit for.

Dean squeezes his shoulder, “Of course it’s for you, man. You’re the only C name that matters.”

“I thought you said…” He squints at Dean, squeezing the hand in question, “That we were brothers.”

He can feel how red his cheeks get at the question and this time Dean can’t stop the squirming, uncomfortable with every aspect of this conversation, but mostly just embarrassed.

“Ah…” Dean sighs, bringing his hand back from Castiel’s shoulder to rub at his own face, “Yeah, I don’t know why I said that.”

“So you… didn’t mean it?”

Fuck, how is he so bad at this?

“Cas,” Dean bites back the urge to groan. He slots their fingers together, squeezing Cas’ hand, “You are _absolutely_ family. Nothing you ever say or do will change that. You…” He lets out all the air from his lungs, trying to calm down, “You are the most important person in the world to me, after Sam.”

Some part of his brain wonders if Cas is fucking with him, like he usually does, but there’s an awful lot of vulnerability on his face right now. Cas is a decent actor, but a terrible liar, and Dean doesn’t think he’s got the chops to be this deep in it.

“But not like…” He winces, squeezing his hand again, “Not like a brother, though.”

“Brothers in arms, perhaps,” Castiel offers, searching Dean’s face. Dean, for his part, shrugs a little.

“Sure, I guess, but not… really.”

A car drives past them honking their horn, and Dean almost jumps out of his seat.

Is this really it? Is this really the time where Dean’s going to man up, to say it? To lay it all out on the table for Cas, in no uncertain terms that this absurd being can’t misunderstand?

Yeah, when Dean’s thought about this, he’s just kind of assumed that it would be a hail mary pass, a last desperate play at the end of the world, but maybe – maybe, some part of him has hoped that it wouldn’t be that. That he’d get the nerve to say it when everything’s fine, when they can have a happily ever after. That he’d get to say it, and Cas would say it back, and the world wouldn’t be ending and maybe, just maybe, they could be together.

Fuck it, God’s dying, Amara’s more powerful than ever and Cas is here, he’s here and he’s alive and he’s himself and he’s in one piece, and Dean is…

An idiot. Dean’s an idiot.

He sighs, his free hand running through his hair, “Cas, I –“

His phone rings in the space between them, Sam’s caller ID flashing across the screen, and Dean swears that one of these days, he’s going to kill his brother. He’s not sure which one of them does it, but their hands fly apart so fast he slams his against the dashboard, like two teenagers caught kissing.

Dean hisses, shaking his hand a little, trying to get rid of the pain, and answers the phone with his other hand, “What, Sam?”

“Where the hell are you guys?”

“We’re coming, calm the fuck down.”

* * *

Later, when it feels like he’s burning from the inside out and Castiel hugs him, Dean tries not to let himself melt into it too much.

Here he is, on his last fucking kamikaze mission, and Cas has no idea how he feels about him.

Maybe that’s okay though, he thinks, hugging Cas back tightly. Maybe that’ll make it easier. “Okay, okay,” he says when it gets too hard, when he’s afraid he won’t let go soon.

Castiel pulls back, reluctant, staring into Dean’s soul with that earnest look on his face that always kills him.

“I could go with you.”

A memory, the two of them standing in a barn in front of the Impala, Cas barely holding it together, a shell of who he was.

(“Well… I’ll go with you. And I’ll do my best.”)

If he hadn’t already been completely gone on Cas, that would’ve been the moment that did him in. This beautiful creature that’s older than Dean has any idea, that’s seen everything, doesn’t fight anymore, he watches the bees. But if Dean needs him, if Dean’s gonna die tomorrow?

Yeah, any residual anger just evaporated in that moment. It felt like being slapped in the face with, ‘Oh yeah, that’s why I love him.’

“No, no, no…” Dean sighs, offering Cas a tight smile, “No, I got to do this alone.” He shifts on his feet, trying to redistribute the heat that’s burning him up on the inside, “Listen, if… _when_ – when this works, Sam, he's gonna be a mess. So look out for him, okay?”

He sighs, ducking his head a little bit, “Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.”

Castiel nods, as serious as ever, “Of course.”

Maybe it’s his soul, or maybe it’s the hopeless romantic part of his brain, is just screaming in there. I love you. _I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry_.

Against his better judgement, Dean sets a hand on the same shoulder he touched earlier in the car, “Thank you for everything.”


	19. the cover up for the tattoo he got as a demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel snorts, sounding all too amused with this conversation, “I said I love you, Dean.” His tone goes much more somber, more serious, and Dean’s back goes ramrod straight with it.
> 
> “I said I love you, and you didn’t say anything back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, if the chapter titles weren't what tattoo this is, this one would be called "hot girl bummer redux" because reasons. 
> 
> warnings for: some talk of demon!dean and dean allowing himself to be a big fucking sap to a stranger who doesn't know them lol. also, 100% crowley is that friend who just has a tattoo gun they got off of amazon and is like "woo let me tattoo you bitches!" and they're all really bad tattoos and nobody likes theirs.

Dean has spent years counting himself lucky that really the only thing he has to show for his time spent as a demon is the trauma of it all.

Was he more of a creep than he would ever knowingly be as, y’know, himself? Yeah, of course. Did he do anything that he wouldn’t condone as a human? …No, not really. Maybe the people he killed weren’t monsters in the traditional, hunter sense, but it’s not like they were good people either. He’s not gonna beat himself up over the deaths of some pedophiles and human traffickers.

But, listen, most people who get possessed or become demons, they’re subjected to way worse. Torturing and killing innocent people for fun, not being in control of their own bodies?

Yeah, it was traumatic, but it was also kinda… freeing, in this weird way that Dean doesn’t ever want to talk about with Sam. And if the overlaying trauma of it all is all he’s got to show for it? That’s a win that Dean will take.

…Well.

Well, okay, he has _one_ thing to show for it. No, Dean doesn’t want to talk about it.

Does Dean Winchester have Warrant lyrics tattooed above his butt crack? Maybe. _Allegedly_.

Castiel, for his part, hadn’t been able to remove it when Dean had finally worked up the courage to ask. He did, however, smile when Dean showed it to him, and it took all of his self-control to not draw a banishing sigil on the door for that. A smile like that from Cas is like anybody else outright guffawing at him and well, that’s just not fair.

Crowley had refused to remove it, despite being the one who did it, and had suggested that Dean talk to Rowena about removing it. He’d rather die again, thanks.

And despite their bottomless credit cards from Charlie, getting it professionally lasered off seems like it presents more challenges than solutions. Plus, keeping appointments would be… problematic.

So, this, right here? This is a last-ditch effort that he’s not even sure will work.

“Alright,” the artist sighs, looking at the paper Dean’s set on the counter. “So, you want to cover up text with this hand print?”

“Yeah,” he nods, the back of his neck getting a little hot. “If that’s possible.”

She huffs a little bit, grabbing something from the other side of the desk, “Depends on what it looks like but honestly, it might be easier to get it lasered.”

“I’ll take whatever you can give me,” he offers, smiling weakly. “Please, I’m desperate here.”

Anna grins at him, both amused by the situation while still somehow not making him feel like he’s being laughed at, “We’ve all been there, man. Cover ups are par for the course for most people.”

Dean sighs, ducking his head a little, “I’m not most people. I just…” He winces, smiling a little bit at her, “Had a bad… summer a couple years ago.”

Sure Dean, make it sound like you’re a sorority girl who got wasted on spring break and got an embarrassing, trashy tattoo on your lower back. Like that’s much better than saying, ‘I was a demon and kind of a slut and my friend thought this would be funny.’

She shrugs, her eyes twinkling a little, “Don’t worry about it man. I’ll see what I can do.”

This time the smile is a little bit easier, “ _Thank_ you.”

His phone dings as soon as he sits down, ready to give Anna the time she needs to get everything ready. Castiel’s face pops up with his text.

_Are you busy?_

Dean can’t help but smile, though he tries to smooth his face out as much as possible.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like Sam chimes in in his head, _God forbid strangers think that you’re happy, Dean. You weirdo_.

 _Not right now_ , he types. _Why?_

Castiel’s face lights up the whole screen this time with the incoming call. Dean hesitates for a moment before standing up, catching the receptionist’s eye so she knows he’s stepping outside. He answers just as she nods at him, and pushes the door open to the parking lot.

“Hey Cas, what’s up?”

“ _Hello, Dean_.”

Castiel sounds tired, which isn’t uncommon for him, but Dean’s been having a hard time since Lucifer not worrying about him too much. Especially after the whole Nephilim thing, Dean’s noticed that Cas is a little off his game.

“You good?” He wonders, briefly, if he sounds as casual as he’s aiming for, or if he sounds as nervous as he feels.

For his part, Castiel huffs, a smile almost audible in his voice, “ _I’m alive, so, I suppose that’s good_.” He hesitates for a moment before saying, “ _Dean… we should talk about_ –“

Dean coughs, cutting him off, a hand coming up to rest on the top of his head, “We did talk about that, Cas. I told you, don’t worry about it.”

So, what, Cas had said I love you? He’d also said, I love all of you, and Dean had, y’know… not reacted to that.

“Besides,” he tries, sounding fake chipper, “We’re good, right? I mean you didn’t die, I didn’t die, Sammy didn’t die, mom didn’t die… that’s all we can really ask for on a hunt like that, y’know?”

Is it possible to hear someone roll their eyes?

“ _Dean, this is getting ridiculous_ ,” Castiel sighs. Dean can picture him glaring at the ground, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

He’d asked him once why he did that. Cas had sworn he didn’t realize he was doing it, but Dean’s pretty sure it’s some human part of him trying to massage away a headache.

(No, he doesn’t want to think about why he gives Castiel headaches, thanks for asking.)

Dean scoffs, kicking a bottle cap on the ground in front of him, “Yeah you’re right, your obsession with this case _is_ getting a little ridiculous Cas.” He hums, looking up as a motorcycle blows by, “You sure you’re good, man? You don’t sound good.”

Angels don’t really emote vocally, not like humans do. It’s something that Dean still catches himself getting caught up in, worrying about, even after all this time.

So when Castiel groans, genuinely groans, it makes him stop in his tracks.

“ _You are truly the most insufferable human I have ever met_.”

It takes his brain a moment to process that and then he’s squawking, his metaphorical feathers bristling a little, “Damn Cas, that’s just hurtful.”

Castiel snorts, sounding all too amused with this conversation, “ _I said I love you, Dean_.” His tone goes much more somber, more serious, and Dean’s back goes ramrod straight with it.

“ _I said I love you, and you didn’t say anything back_.”

Dean has never claimed to be good at this – at feelings, at relationships, at talking. As he’s gotten older, he’s learned the importance of clear communication in all kinds of relationships, but he’s still learning how to, y’know… practice what you preach.

Like a year ago, when the world had been ending and Amara and Chuck were gonna go head to head, had he planned to tell Cas how he felt about him? Yeah.

Now, when the world (probably) isn’t ending and Dean’s fucking mom is back, was he planning to tell Cas how he felt about him? No, not fucking really, he’s been a little busy trying to compartmentalize his relationship with his dead mother.

So, that might have something to do with why Dean sounds a little harsher than he’d intended.

“Damn it Cas, what the hell was I supposed to say, huh?!” His voice is more like a hiss and he cringes at himself, a hand coming up to rub over his face.

“What did you want me to say man? In front of my mom, in front of Sam?” Dean sighs, the fight draining out of him, “I don’t even think my mom knows that I like dudes.”

“ _Well, next time I’m dying I’ll make sure to ask them to leave the room first_ ,” Castiel hisses, sounding (he hates this word) pissy.

Despite himself, despite the defensiveness he’d felt moments before, Dean snorts. Jesus Christ, he misses his best friend. All the fight drains out of him in one go as he leans against the Impala, an uncomfortably fond feeling bubbling up in his chest.

“ _I apologize_ ,” Cas breathes out, sounding similar to how Dean feels. “ _That was… unfair of me, I suppose. To expect you to say anything_ –“

“Hey,” Dean interrupts, hating that Cas is blaming himself. “Hey man, no, listen, it…” He groans, looking up at the sky, the sun setting, “Would you hate me if I said it’s not you, it’s me?”

“ _I could never hate you, Dean_.” He hums, papers shuffling in the background, “ _I can assure you, I’ve tried_.”

Dean grins a little bit, “Oh yeah?”

“ _Yes. Repeatedly_.”

“Aw, Cas,” he croons, trying to cover this unbearable ache in his chest with teasing. “You sweet talker. Bet you get all the ladies talkin’ like that.”

He snorts, more shuffling in the background, “ _I can assure you, I am not interested in any ladies, Dean_.”

Would it be absurd for him to say, ‘Yeah Cas, I don’t think I am either’? Yeah, right?

Dean chuckles, a hand coming up to run through his hair, “Cas… I just –“ He covers his mouth for a moment, trying to find the words, “I’m not good at this stuff, you know? The feelings stuff?” He toes at the bottle cap again, sighing, “Just with… mom and Lucifer and Kelly and, fuck, everything else going on, I don’t…”

What? I don’t know how to love you?

 _Chickenshit_ , that Sam voice whispers in the back of his head.

“I do,” he chokes out after what’s probably 30 seconds, but feels like 30 minutes of dead silence. “I do, I – I just… can’t, right now.”

 _Chicken_.

Castiel is quiet for another beat, long enough that Dean starts to panic that he’s fucked it all up again.

“… _Alright_ ,” he sighs reluctantly. “ _I understand_.”

All the tension drains out of Dean at once and if he wasn’t leaning against the Impala, he probably would’ve crumbled into a pile of nothingness on the ground. “Really?”

“ _Well, no_ ,” Castiel admits. He doesn’t sound upset at least. “ _However, I don’t think my feelings will be changing any time in the near future. So, I suppose it can wait until you’re ready_.”

Dean laughs weakly, a hand settling on his chest, “I guess I’ll take it.”

“ _Where are you anyways, Dean_?”

If Cas was here, despite everything they just said, Dean would kiss him for the change of subject.

“I’m uh,” he sighs, straightening up again. “At that tattoo shop that just opened outside of Lebanon. Gonna get that one I asked you about covered up.”

Castiel hums, some interest peaking in his voice again, “ _Oh? And you’re sure you don’t want to keep it_?”

Dean rolls his eyes, happily falling into the normalcy of this conversation, “Ha-fucking-ha Cas, why don’t you eat me?”

“ _While I appreciate the offer, Dean, I’ve never found cherry pie to be all that enjoyable_.”

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re an asshole?”

“ _I learned from the best_.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“ _Takes one to know one_.”

“Castiel,” Dean squawks, barely holding back an ugly laugh. “Are you twelve?!” His cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so big. It’s a nice feeling.

His response is momentarily drowned out by Anna stepping outside and calling Dean’s name, startling him back to reality.

Dean sighs, “Hey buddy, I gotta go, Anna’s ready for me.”

“ _Alright_.”

“Talk to you later, Cas. I’ll send you a picture.”

He hangs up without waiting for a response, walking over to the door and hesitating for half a second before following her inside. ‘I’ll send you a picture’??? What the hell is the matter with him.

Dean can feel how red his neck and ears are as they walk back to Anna’s little section, and he pulls the door closed behind them at her request.

She smiles over her shoulder, getting everything ready, “Was that your boyfriend?”

His feet get tangled up in each other for just a moment, Dean barely managing to catch himself on the table at the mere suggestion of _Castiel_ and _boyfriend_ in the same sentence.

“Pffft,” he tries to sound casual about it, laying down on the table. “Boyfriend? No, Cas is…”

What, Dean? The love of your life? Your best friend? The guy who pulled you out of hell, literally, and walked away from heaven for you? You gonna tell her that?

“Cas?” It sounds weak even to his own ears.

Anna smiles gently at him, “I get it. It took me a while before I could call my wife my girlfriend too.” She pushes the stool over, rolling across the floor to the table with the razor, “It’s weird, being in the closet for so long and then you have this person, and you can call them that… I don’t know, it almost felt like I didn’t deserve to call her that.”

Dean’s glad his face is pillowed by his arms because wow, this stranger has read him like a god damn book and isn’t that just fucking horrifying?

His laugh is a little strangled, “Yeah, uh… something like that, for sure.”

Anna makes quick work of the preparations, very professional even with the tops of both his butt cheeks on display. “So how long have you two known each other?”

The laugh is a little bit sincerer this time because, well, “That’s kinda up for debate actually…” He smiles into his arms, “He’d say we met almost 10 years ago, I’d say that it feels like I’ve known him for like… forever?” (Cas swears that his time in hell doesn’t count, but the sentiment is true either way.)

“That’s sweet,” she hums, setting the stencil down over the tattoo. “He a good guy?”

Dean would make fun of himself if he could see the goofy smile that’s hiding itself against his forearms, “He’s the best guy.”

“He…” He turns his head a little bit, staring at the wall, “He’s, y’know… always there, even when I kinda wish he wasn’t. And he’s really weird, but like, in this really charming way?”

Anna snorts, showing him the picture, she took of the stencil over the tattoo, “Weird but charming?”

Dean nods at the picture, “Yeah, that looks good.” He snorts, shrugging, “Cas is… really, really smart. He knows everything about history and lore, and y’know, he’s really funny. But not in an obvious way, he’s drier than the Sahara, but once you get a read on him, he’s so funny. He’s…”

Castiel is so much. He is full of endless heart and good faith that Dean desperately admires. He is kind and he cares so much, about everyone, that Dean spends half the time thinking about Cas worrying about him. He makes everyone feel safe, feel listened to, feel like they matter. And he’s so damn earnest, staring way past Dean’s soul, that it drives him crazy. He’s able to find the good in places where Dean wouldn’t even bother to look, and it knocks him off of his feet every time.

And he’s honest, he doesn’t bullshit people, which is something that Dean both admires and struggles with. Neither one of them likes small talk or sugarcoating things, but in the handful of years that Castiel has been on Earth he’s mastered the art of tact in a way that Dean probably never will.

He’s damn good in a fight too. Dean will never tell Sam this, but in a way fighting with Cas is almost better than fighting with Sam, because there’s never been a moment where he didn’t know that Cas had his back. Even back when he was working with Crowley, even when Naomi was controlling him, Lucifer – there was never a moment where Dean felt threatened by Cas. It was like he just knew, somewhere deep down in his bones, that Cas would never hurt him.

But Cas is also an obnoxious roommate, and if Dean didn’t love him with every fiber of his being, he would’ve killed him already.

The guy doesn’t need to do things like shower or eat, but when he does Dean can always tell by the small tornado of bullshit left behind. Trouser socks everywhere, wet towels just left on the floor, shampoo bottle being suspiciously empty, bowls left in the sink, the trash left by the garage door, coffee cups scattered around the bunker with day old coffee in them, piles upon piles of books just left out, filing systems be damned. Oh, you’re looking for Cas? Follow the trail of clothes and you’ll find him.

He’s even found some of Castiel’s things in his own room, just thrown around like he owns the place, like he doesn’t have his own fucking room across the hallway. It’s usually in the moments where Dean would most like to strangle him, that he finds himself wanting nothing more than to kiss that smug look off of his face.

He tells Anna all of this, in carefully selected and edited piece parts, because why not? She doesn’t know who Cas is, it’s not like she’s ever going to tell anyone that he played along with this.

“Don’t tell anyone this,” Dean laughs nervously, turning his head so he can kinda see her elbow while she works. “That’s his hand print.”

Anna lets out a low whistle, somewhere between impressed and amused, “Wow. Possessive?”

He snorts, “Nah, not really. I just didn’t know what else to cover this up with.”

He’d tossed around some ideas with Cas, even with Charlie back before… everything. Nothing felt good enough or, like… meaningful enough to fully erase the fact that it was something Crowley did while Dean was, you know. A demon.

“There a good story behind the cherry pie tattoo at least?”

Dean sighs, biting his lip, “No… just went through a bad time. A friend thought it would be funny, we’re not friends anymore, I’d like to not feel embarrassed every time I catch a glimpse of it in the mirror.”

“Fair enough,” she laughs, wiping it off. “You know, if it makes you feel better, this is nowhere near the most embarrassing tattoo I’ve ever seen.”

She tells him about some of the best worst tattoos she’s come across in her career, and Dean listens, happy to not have to think about himself or Cas (or everything else) for just a little while.

Apparently at some point, Dean drifted off to sleep because the next thing he’s aware of is Anna tapping his shoulder. He bolts up, reaching for the gun that isn’t there, and apparently looks freaked out enough that Anna holds up her hands in a placating motion.

“Hey,” she laughs, nervous. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but you’re all done.”

The memory of where he is and what he’s doing comes back to Dean all at once and damn, this is embarrassing, he can never come back here again, huh?

Dean kind crumbles in on himself a little bit, a hand coming up to rub at his face for a moment, “Shit, I… Sorry, I just –“

_What? Have a lot of trauma and can’t wake up like a normal person anymore?_

“Sorry.”

Dean offers her an apologetic smile, getting up after a moment to go look in the mirror at the tattoo.

Cas has big hands, so Dean would be lying if he said that hadn’t been factored into this, but even the handprint doesn’t completely cover the tattoo. She’d mentioned that it might come out looking like this, and honestly? It’s kinda perfect, some of the letters just peeking out from behind the tattoo.

“This looks incredible,” he breathes out, twisting some more to try and get a better look at it. “Wow, you really got the whole scar thing down perfect.”

What? Dean Winchester is _absolutely_ a sentimental sap. Shut up.

He thanks, and apologizes, to Anna again, returning her hug a little reluctantly. He’s halfway to the front counter when she stops him, “Oh, Dean!”

Anna smiles, holding up her phone, “Want me to take a picture of it?”

Dean blinks at her, his brain still not 100% awake yet, “Uh…” Her smile falters a little bit, looking a little nervous, “In the parking lot, you said you’d send Cas a picture?”

The speed at which his face turns pink is truly impressive and mortifying. He laughs, ducking his chin a little bit, “I… that’s okay, thanks though. I’ll probably just wait until he comes home to show him.”

He thanks her again and pays at the counter, leaving the tip up there with them. The whole time all he can think about is how a stranger thinks that they’re together, and it’s… fine. It’s fine.

His phone rings as he slides into the driver’s seat, Sam’s face flashing across the caller ID.

“Yeah Sam? …You found Kelly where? Did you call Cas? …Fuck, yeah, alright, I’ll be home in like 20.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember a ton of s12, but I do remember middle of s11 through like... the end of the show, really, feel like they're kinda building up to something with the two dingdongs in love. I am trying to write all of this as if it could just be dropped into canon tomorrow and nobody would be able to tell the difference, and there is no version of spn that makes sense to me where dean and cas haven't been together or at least aggressively aware of their Feelings for each other since they got out of purgatory. I watched the show from s7 onward the first time through the lens of "oh, these two are absolutely in love, it's just off camera." so if this feels out of character, rewatch the show through that lens and you'll understand where I'm coming from lmao.


	20. "There is no why” in Castiel’s handwriting going up his left calf near his knee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (He’s cracking, splitting at the seams, and Dean is drowning in the guilt of it all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in/during 14.11 because I don't know where else to put this? that's what took this chapter so long, figuring out where the other tattoos fit in. as much as it pains me to end it on an uneven number chapter, there may be only one more left! 
> 
> Warnings: the general tone of the episode and the usual tone of Dean's brain. also, mentions of past domestic violence and child abuse. also the subtlest gilmore girls reference because I'm rewatching it rn, and truly cannot get that exchange out of my head and it just seems correct for mary. 
> 
> also, subtle reference to a fic that's completely finished on my laptop that I never published because it's kinda dark lmao

“Everybody keeps asking how I am. And how I am… is I don’t want to talk about it. Please.”

Mary seems to take that answer with a grain of salt, sizing him up for another moment before shrugging, “Alright, I get it. You’re not ready to talk about it.”

Dean huffs, shoving another bite of food in his mouth, “Sure, yeah.”

He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not with Sam, not with Donna, not with mom, not with anybody. He can barely think anyways with Michael screaming in his head, let alone try to process his own emotions, his own grief.

He lets his mom talk about how her and Bobby are doing, what they’ve been hunting, what they’re doing out her – it’s nice. It’s nice to see Mary in her element, in a space where she feels completely comfortable. His mom might not be a chef, but she moves around that kitchen like she owns it, and something about it makes Dean feel like he’s a kid again. Right down to the moment she sets a piece of pie in front of him, laughing about this case Bobby’s working on.

Something warm and fond untangles itself in his chest as he takes a sip of his drink. The look on his face must be even more obvious than he thought it would be, because Mary just grins as she takes her own seat, tilting her head at him, “What?”

Dean shrugs, smiling down at his plate, “You seem happy, mom.”

Their relationship has been rocky at best since she came back, her presence really solidifying every vague foggy memory Dean has about his childhood, and it was… unsettling on his good days. But now? They’re okay, him and Mary. They talk, they talk about more than just hunts, they share secrets. It’s different than it was when she came back, and Dean’s all the more grateful for it.

“I am, kid,” Mary’s grin somehow widens even more as she settles a hand on top of Dean’s and squeezes. “I’m good.”

She sits back after a moment, taking a sip of her drink, “What about you? You good?”

Something bitter and tired claws up the back of Dean’s throat, Michael screaming again in the back of his mind. He offers her a tired, tight smile, “I’m always good.”

Mary tuts, but doesn’t say anything else about it. They eat their pie in companionable silence, and the longer that she doesn’t press him for questions, the more Dean’s shoulders relax. It’s nice having this many people who care about you, Dean supposes, but it also just makes doing the right thing that much harder.

Dean does the dishes for Mary, and hushes her when she objects, telling her to go sit in the living room or something while he works. She doesn’t listen, because of course she doesn’t, and just pulls herself up onto a counter across from him.

For his part, Dean ignores her, trying to hum a song to drown out the added noise in his head.

You’d think that he would be immune to this, considering the fact that Dean’s never had a moment of silence in his life, but something about Michael just… shifts everything off kilter in there. It’s always hard to think straight, to not get lost in worst case scenarios, but it’s even worse now.

“Sam’s worried about you,” Mary says eventually. Quiet, like she doesn’t want to spook him.

It makes his shoulders tense up, defensive. He doesn’t have the energy to unpack why.

“Yeah, well…” Dean sighs, setting the plate on the drainboard, “He shouldn’t be. I’m fine.” He turns around, flashing Mary what he hopes is a convincing grin, “See? Solid as a rock in here.”

(He’s cracking, splitting at the seams, and Dean is drowning in the guilt of it all.)

“I know it’s not my place,” she sighs, her head quietly thumping against a cabinet. “But kiddo, I don’t think you’re fine. Talk to me, Dean.”

There’s a split second where he considers doing it – telling her everything. Everything that Michael did, everything that he remembers, everything that he’s hearing and feeling, 40 year’s worth of guilt constantly pulling him under, the current desperately trying to drag him out to sea.

Instead he huffs a quiet, bitter laugh, “You know mom, ever since we got Michael taken care of…” Dean looks up, staring at nothing in front of him as he wipes his hands dry on the dish towel. “I can’t stop thinking about this thing.”

He turns around, leaning against the sink and crossing his arms, unintentionally defensive. Dean glances at his mom for just a moment, before his eyes end up settling on the ground in front of him.

“Last time I read Slaughterhouse-Five, this one thing really stood out to me.” He smiles ruefully, tired and sad and just… _exhausted_.

“ _Why me?_ ”

Dean’s voice is steady, but he refuses to look up from the spot on the ground he’s picked, “ _That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything?” He huffs, shifting on his feet to cross his legs, “Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?_ ”

Mary smiles, sad, “ _Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why_.”

Something breaks in Dean’s chest so intensely that for a moment, he swears Mary can hear it.

To cover it up he laughs, not quite broken but damn close to it, “I couldn’t get that out of my head. I kept dreaming about that scene, kept writing down it down on napkins and motel stationary, on the bathroom mirror in the steam, even.”

Finally, he looks up and meets Mary’s eyes, shrugging again, “There is no why.”

Mary looks like she wants to say something but thinks better of it, and for that Dean can’t be anything but grateful. Yeah, he’s trying to distract her, sure, but maybe he just wants somebody to see him for once.

He taps his left knee, the smile a little bit more genuine this time, “Thought about it so much I got it in Cas’ chicken scratch on me permanently.”

The house is quiet at the admission, the only sound being an owl in the distance.

A couple years ago, back when Mary had first come back, Dean had told her, just a little bit, about the tattoos. Not all of them, because he hadn’t felt comfortable enough to do that yet, but enough of them – the important ones. He knew that she didn’t feel comfortable around them, and it hurt but he understood, but Dean just… wanted his mom to know something about him.

He’s lost in his own head for a little bit, his mind volleying between the halted, awkward confession of his feelings for Cas to his mom and the manic, desperate screaming of Michael in his head.

A hand settling on his shoulder startles him out of it, and Dean’s met with an understanding smile from his mom.

“Tell me about him.”

Dean smiles, his chest aching, “You know Cas, mom.”

She shrugs, squeezing his arm, “I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.”

Because he’s selfish, because he’s exhausted and because he’s gonna lock himself up in that box tomorrow, he lets his mom pull him over to the couch and tells her everything.

He tells her about that barn all those years ago, how Cas has stormed into his life full of righteous fury, and Dean had stabbed him in the heart. He tells her about the other angels, how Castiel always felt different, always felt kinder, always tried to help him when he could. He tells her about the green room, Chuck’s kitchen, that moment when he thought that Cas was dead, and how angry with himself he had been.

(“Why?” Mary asks, handing him another beer. Dean just smiles, shrugging, “Because I cared.”)

He tells her about fighting the apocalypse with him, that night after the brothel, the alternate timeline Zachariah had shown him, how that Dean and Cas were around each other. He tells her about Lisa, and Cassie and Jake, and how he’d spent that year alone, miserable. He tells her about all the times he’s tried to be normal and failed, and that he thinks he might be broken.

He tells her about purgatory and the Mark and Lucifer possessing Cas, and how through everything, there was always this big _If_ air between the two of them. If the apocalypse wasn’t happening, if Dean hadn’t let Gadreel in, if Cas hadn’t been running from heaven, if Dean hadn’t been a demon, if Cas hadn’t been trying to save heaven, if they could get their shit together long enough, if they could solve everything, **_if_** –

“Now…” Dean sighs, looking at his mom for the first time in a while, “I don’t know. I think we missed our window.”

Mary sighs, setting her own drink down on the coffee table, “But you love him, right?”

He looks back down at his lap, his fingers working at the label on the bottle, “I don’t…”

He does. With all his heart, with every fiber of his being, more than he’s ever loved anyone or anything – he loves Castiel. He stopped fighting it year ago, stopped pretending he didn’t after the Mark, when it all felt so stupid to just keep lying about it. As if Castiel hadn’t seen the way his soul, or what was left of it, reached for him every time they were in the same room. As if he hadn’t seen the way that Castiel’s Grace reached back.

“Everybody,” Dean chokes on what he hopes is a laugh. “Everybody I love dies.”

Some brave part of him, some part that’s braver than Dean will ever admit to being, looks up and meets Mary’s eyes, knowing full well he’s just going to see pity in them.

“I thought he loved me for a while… but every time…”

Every time he’s gotten up the nerve to try something, to say something, to kiss Cas stupid until they both couldn’t breathe anymore, nothing changed. They’ve even shared a bed, held hands, and nothing, not a single damn thing he does, changes this holding pattern they’re in.

“I don’t know,” he admits, eventually. “I don’t know why it never works, me and him, but it doesn’t. I think it’s just one of those things, you know?”

“There is no why,” Mary echoes the memory from earlier, smiling sadly at him.

Dean smiles, his head lolling back against the sofa, “Yup. And because I’m a sap, I asked Cas to write it and I…” He shrugs, his fingers still picking at the label on his bottle, “I don’t know. It felt right.”

The cabin is quiet for a couple minutes, the air kicking on in the background and something humming in the kitchen being the only thing they can hear.

“You know something, Dean?” Mary asks, squeezing his elbow and not bothering to wait for an answer. “You’re a good man.”

He huffs, turning so he can glare tiredly at her, but he smiles to try and keep the tone joking, “’m not.”

“You are.”

Dean snorts before groaning, Michael’s screaming grating more and more on him the longer he stays awake. It’s just as well, really, because he doesn’t have the energy to argue with his mother about _that_.

“You know what mom,” he grumbles out eventually, forcing what he hopes is a normal, calm smile. “I think I’m ready for bed.”

To his surprise, Mary doesn’t argue with him. She just gets up and gets him a spare pillow and blanket and offers to finish cleaning up the kitchen while he gets ready for bed.

“There’s a spare tooth brush under the sink if you need it,” she smiles, squeezing his shoulder as he walks past.

* * *

Mary watches him sleep for a little bit from the perch of her bed, his chest barely visible, sighing mostly to herself.

There’s so much she wishes she could say to him. She wishes she could tell Dean how sorry she is, how guilty she still feels looking at him, but she knows that won’t solve anything. Her genuine heartbreak and remorse that Dean’s childhood was stolen from him, that she didn’t leave John when she had planned to, that he became the target of John’s abuse instead of her, it won’t fix any of it.

After Dean had to break into her head and bring her back to reality, she had written him a letter. Some part of Mary wonders now if giving him that letter would change anything.

He’s planning something, that much she knows, but she doesn’t know what.

She may not have raised Dean, but she sees so much of herself in him, and it’s _almost_ like she can read him like a book. Except her son has been through a lot, and some of the passages are blacked out or in another language that she can’t understand on her own.

Back in high school, Mary had written a whole paper on that one little passage from Slaughterhouse-Five. It had stuck out to her, and stuck with her, too.

Being a hunter is not a life you choose, it is a life that is bestowed unto you, whether you want it or not.

There is no doubt in her mind that Dean didn’t want it.

Her hand settles on the anti-possession sigil that’s tattooed on her thigh, right by to the only tattoo she had before she died. It’s Dean’s birthday on her hip, a north star just above it.

“Oh, Dean,” she whispers, going to grab her boots and slip them on.

She couldn’t be there to protect them growing up, but maybe she can protect Dean from this.


	21. D&C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's birth date and Mary's death date on his ribs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like, this is if everything happened as it did in canon, but Cas blew into the barn where Dean did a dumb and somehow saved him from dying. don't think about it too hard, okay. no real warnings here, just some fluff and an attempt at wrapping up this vaguely disjointed notion of a story, as well as the end of the show. again, seriously, I've been trying to keep it as close to canon as possible, so I think this would honestly fit pretty well into the tone of the show. 
> 
> and yes, sam and eileen are together and basically set up an information hub/halfway house for hunters. by the second half of the story, they're no longer living in the bunker, but they do still run the day to day operations of everything for the hunters, and occasionally go out on cases themselves.

“So,” Dean smiles, mostly to himself and shrugs. “That’s what I’ve been up to.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, leaning forward and trying not to wince when the bandage on his ribs pulls. “What about you guys? How have you been doing?”

Jake gapes at Dean for a moment, trying to parse through all of that information he just dumped on him.

“Uh,” he starts, his mouth opening and closing a few more times before laughing. Jake ducks his head, a hand coming up to rub over his face, “Shit, not much compared to you, apparently.”

Dean grins, leaning back in his chair and bumping their boots together. “Nah come on man,” his smile softens. “I want to know.”

It’s weird, being here and it not feeling like the worlds ending, but it’s a really good weird. Seeing this person who’s been this bizarre constant in his life, now when they’re officially out from under Chuck’s thumb, now that everything’s... maybe normal. It’s really, really weird.

Jake laughs a little bit, fidgeting with his coffee cup, “Well, I mean you saw the shop.” He leans forward, smiling at Dean, “And you heard about Kiara.”

Dean whistles, his chest aching, “I still can’t believe you’re a grandpa, man.”

It’s hard to believe that it’s been long enough now that the little girl who used to drag Dean into her room for tea parties, who begged him to braid her hair, who helped him make breakfast on Saturday mornings, who, for one brief flash of his life, Dean considered his own - she has her own kid.

He snorts, shaking his head fondly at Dean, “You and me both, dude. It’s crazy.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, the sounds of the cafe filling the void in between them. It’s been easy this time, the tension and the ever-present sense of longing, of _almosts_ , has long since dissipated between them. Jake was always the more settled one, the stable one, a port in any storm, if you will.

Now Dean finds himself settled, free from a capricious god with a penchant for chaos.

“So,” Jake asks after a moment, smiling over his coffee cup. “You seem happy, Dean.” He seems to hesitate for a moment, like he’s worried about breaking the spell of peace between them, “Are you...?”

“Happy?” Dean finishes, returning the smile.

Is he happy? Honestly, it’s been so long since he’s even felt content that it’s hard to say.

Sam is alive, in one piece, making plans for the future with an incredible woman by his side. His little brother is the happiest Dean’s ever had the pleasure to see up close.

Back when Sam was at Stanford, Dean would check on him occasionally, when it got to be too much. And he remembers, vividly, seeing Sam and Jessica walking across a courtyard together, their arms entangled, these big goofy smiles on their faces. Sam had laughed at something she said, she had pulled him down into a kiss and Dean had left, his tail tucked between his legs. Ashamed of himself for even considering pulling his brother away from this, not when he’s never seen him smile so much.

Now, with Eileen? Dean’s never been one for the notion of soul mates, but he thinks that Eileen is the closest Sam’s going to find down here on earth.

And Jack is, well... God, maybe, or at least something like it. He overlooks the universe, he brought back all the people who were Thanos snapped and he’s good. He’s really, really good, from everything Dean’s heard. He hasn’t wanted to bother him with his new job and everything, but he knows Sam talks to him. Jack is happy, he thinks, content with his place in the universe and finally feeling like he has a purpose. Dean can relate.

And is Dean happy?

He smiles, shrugging after a minute of silence, “Honestly? I’m not sure...” Dean bites his lip a little bit, trying to feign a casualness he hasn’t felt since Castiel found him and Sam in that barn.

“I think I will be.”

A hand settles on his shoulder, the small bags of food being dropped onto their table as Castiel plops into the seat next to him.

For all his natural grace he has, Cas is a fan of aggressively inserting himself into Dean’s life.

“Dean, they didn’t have the scone you wanted so I just purchased you a muffin,” he grumbles, sounding more than a little petulant.

It makes something in Dean’s chest swell with an absurd amount of affection for this man.

“And Jake,” Castiel offers him a smile, pointing at the bag closest to him. “There is your loaf. The woman at the register offered to heat it up, however I wasn’t sure if you wanted that, so I just purchased one warmed one and one room temperature one.”

Jake grins a little bit, glancing at Dean in silent amusement (who just shrugs as if to say, ‘ _I told you_ ’). “Thanks, man. You didn’t have to buy me food though.”

Castiel waves his hand, the line of his shoulders relaxing minutely when Dean settles a hand on his thigh. “It is the least I can do.”

Things aren’t good between them, not just yet. There’s plenty of baggage to unpack between them, plenty of hurt feelings and resentment long since swallowed and forgotten about. They’re determined to deal with them before -

Well, Dean muses as he takes a bite of his snack. There is no before, really, because that would imply nothing has happened yet.

This is the closest the two of them have been though, to something. Castiel is not quite human yet, but he will be sometime soon when his Grace fully leaves him. There is no Big Bad out there trying to keep them apart, no self-sacrificing missions for either one of them to go on, and for once, they’re just… going to be Dean and Cas. See what happens, you know?

He watches Castiel talk to Jake, both of them feeling a little awkward but warming up to the idea of each other.

His ribs ache where Jack and mom’s birthdays have been added to his list, like his skin is too tight to contain everything. It’s a good, familiar feeling.

Castiel had indulged him on their way out of town, agreed to making this completely out of the way pit stop. They’re heading up to check out a property that Dean found online, with some potential plans for a long-forgotten dream.

The shop had been easy to find, and even easier to get a walk-in appointment. Honestly, Dean hadn’t been sure if Jake would even see him, but for the last couple weeks of healing, it’s the only thing that he’s been able to think about. Jake should know, he should know that Dean’s okay, that he’s going to be okay, hopefully soon. Eventually, definitely, Dean will be okay.

There’s a flash of skin as Castiel shifts in his chair, Dean barely catching a glimpse of the fresh tattoo under his shirt. They’ll have to explore that some more when they get back to the Impala.

They laugh and Dean feels himself laugh along with them, his hand squeezing Castiel’s thigh gently.

This is nice, he thinks. This is nice.

* * *

They say goodbye to Jake at his car and Dean has to bite back his delighted laugh when Cas gets pulled into a hug. He glances at Dean, somewhere between panicked and affronted, and it’s unendingly charming.

“Take care of yourself, man,” Dean mumbles when he gets pulled into a hug. “And send me pictures of the pipsqueak, yeah?”

Jake laughs, patting his back as if they’re just friends, as if they talk all the time and they watch the Sunday game together, and it’s good, it’s really good. “I’m sure Kiara would love to see you, Dean.”

He smiles when they pull back, mulling the idea over for a little bit, “Tell you what, if this thing we’re checking out pans out, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jake grins even more.

There’s a palpable thing that springs up between them all in that moment, something that none of them are comfortable saying in front of each other yet. It makes the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand up.

Castiel clears his throat quietly, nudging Dean’s arm, “I’ll be at the car.” Dean nods, watching him go for a moment before turning to meet Jake’s smile.

“Thank you again, man.” He’s said thank you probably a hundred times today, but he can’t not say it again, “Seriously.” Dean settles a hand on his shoulder, trying to pack everything he wants to say but can’t into the look on his face, “For everything. I don’t...”

Not to give anyone but himself the credit for Dean making it this far, but it’s true.

“I don’t know if I would’ve made it this far if I hadn’t met you.”

 _If you hadn’t shown me that I could be loved, if you hadn’t shown me that there can be good in this world, if you hadn’t taken me in when I had no one and needed someone_.

Jake’s smile is too understanding, again, reading him like a book. “Of course.”

They hug one more time, finally letting go of the _what if’s_ Dean suspects they’ve both been holding onto.

He barely makes it 10 feet before Jake calls out one more time, “Hey, Dean?”

Dean turns around, squinting a little bit as the sun hits him, “Yeah?”

There’s no malice, no resentment, no ill will at all in the grin Jake is wearing, and it’s a beautiful thing.

“Love is a good look for you.”

A memory pops up from all those years ago, the last time they saw each other, _You didn’t love me_. Back then, when he was 24 and desperate to belong somewhere, to someone, he’d thought that he was in love. And maybe he was back then, and whatever it is between him and Cas is different, but Jake was right.

Jake was another Lisa, another dream that Dean would have killed for, would have died to protect, but it wasn’t _quite_ right. He didn’t _quite_ fit. He could never love them the way they deserved, no matter how much he tried.

He ducks his head, smiling and just waves a hand in acknowledgement and thanks. There’s nothing left he can really say there, huh?

Castiel is leaning against the Impala, all long lines of muscle, his too-big jacket blowing in the wind just a little bit. He’s got his head tilted back and his eyes closed, soaking up the sun, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat at the sight.

He stands there for a minute too long, stunned stupid and frozen, unable to take his eyes off of him.

“Take a picture,” Castiel sighs, sounding tired. “I’ve been told they’ll last longer.”

Dean does.

The camera clicking is what makes Cas open his eyes, and Dean’s not sure if the glare is intended for him or because of the sun. It doesn’t matter.

He walks over to the driver’s side door, resting his arms on the roof of the Impala, the keys jangling as he fidgets with them.

Castiel turns, resting his own arms on the roof and smiling a little bit at Dean. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, a tiny laugh escaping with it. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

They both get into the car without further comment and it feels like a part of Dean that’s been missing for a long time just kinda slots into place with them.

He turns out of the parking lot and onto the main road, Castiel pulling sunglasses out of the glovebox for both of them. He fiddles with the radio for a moment, hushing Dean’s noises of protest before settling onto a song that’s familiar to both of them.

_Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light  
_ _To chase a feather in the wind  
_ _Within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight  
_ _There moves a thread that has no end_

_For many hours and days that pass ever soon  
_ _The tides have caused the flame to dim  
_ _At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom  
_ _Is this to end or just begin_?

Dean looks over at him, grinning, and his heart does an impressive flip flop at the grin that Cas is wearing too.

“Where to next?”

* * *

Post script:

“Hey grandpa!” Claire yells, using her spare key to open the front door. Kaia and Jack push in past her, the three of them shivering from the cold and couple feet of snow outside. “Anybody gonna come help us with the bags?!”

Dean grumbles, coming down the stairs in his robe, clearly annoyed to be conscious, “Shut the fuck up, kid. You’re gonna wake people up.” Claire snorts, not unkindly, and drops her bag as she closes the front door, “Sorry, Cas said you guys were empty.”

He sighs, pulling the robe tighter around him, “Couple’a hunters showed up around dinner time. They’re stayin down here though, so your rooms are open if you want ‘em.”

“ _Dean_.”

Castiel’s voice whisper-yells from upstairs, making Dean take a couple steps backwards so he can glare at the little walkway where he’s sure Cas is standing. “ ** _What_** , Cas? You’re the one who told them they could come.”

Jack shifts on his feet in the entryway, moving his duffel from one shoulder to another, “Should we leave?”

For his part, Dean all but squawks, waving a dismissive hand at the mere suggestion, “No!” He hisses, pointing up at something the three of them can’t see, “Cas, get your ass down here.”

He rubs a hand over his face, groaning when he hears the petulant overly loud feet coming down the stairs. “Unbelievable,” Dean mumbles.

Claire watches the exchange with a bemused smile on her face, her arm coming up to rest on Kaia’s waist when she moves closer. “Hey, sunshine.”

Castiel glares at them from behind his glasses, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself, “Claire. Kaia. Jack. It’s good to see you.”

Dean sighs, looking up at the ceiling, “Cas, damn it, you put _pants_ on in the middle of the night. What if a guest saw you?”

He just glares even more at Dean, walking closer to him until he can pinch his arm. It makes Dean yelp and Cas smile, just a little bit, while they’re clearly having a silent conversation between the two of them.

Kaia coughs when the staring goes on for just a second too long, “Hey, so, we’ve been driving for like fifteen hours and we’d really like to get to bed…?”

“Of course,” Castiel sighs, stepping around Dean. The front desk is in the room off to their right and it only takes him a moment before he comes back with two keys, handing one to Claire and one to Jack. “Your rooms are ready, I changed the sheets for you before I went to bed.”

Dean squawks quietly, pouting at the side of his head, “Is that where you went?!”

“Hush, Dean.”

“Sorry, you just left me alone with those weirdos from Minnesota, forgive me if I’m a little –“

Castiel pinches him again, effectively shutting him up. It would be cute if it wasn’t so distinctly _gross_. Ugh.

Jack grins, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet, “It’s going to snow tomorrow, so we don’t think we’ll be able to do much work on this case. Do you think we can have a snowball fight in the morning?”

Dean smiles a little bit, “Sure kiddo, we can probably do that. Sounds like fun.”

Claire sighs, picking her bag up again, “Well, it’s been nice, this whole reunion thing, but I’m going to get laid, so, later losers.” She ignores Castiel’s indignant squawk, Dean’s barely restrained chortle, and Jack’s quiet mumbling (“They do that a lot, at least this time Claire didn’t lock me out, it’s nice not being cold for an hour”) and drags Kaia up the stairs.

* * *

Claire is the first one awake, like she always is.

Once Kaia’s out, she’s usually out for a solid couple of hours. Claire can fall asleep if she stands still for long enough, but she almost always has a nightmare that sends her bolting upright in bed. She slips out of their bed easily, pulling on a hoodie that she stole the last time they were at the bunker.

The door to Jack’s room is closed and if Claire concentrates, she can hear the drone of a movie playing in there. Knowing Jack, it’s probably one of the ones he’s seen a hundred times.

Dean and Castiel’s rooms are closed, but there is a light coming from under the door of Castiel’s room. She pauses outside it for a moment, straining her ears to see if he’s up, but it’s silent.

The house is an old, old Victorian that creaks in certain spots when you walk, so Claire takes her time tiptoeing down the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. Miracle and Sarge, the fierce guard dogs that they are, barely acknowledge her presence from their respective places at the bottom of the stairs.

“Lazy jerks,” she whispers fondly, scratching Sarge’s big ears.

She makes it to the hallway outside of the kitchen and freezes when she hears some voices.

“Do you think Jack is really doing alright?”

It’s Castiel’s quiet, familiar murmur, and Claire can’t find it in herself to be at all surprised when she hears an equally familiar voice respond.

“I think he’s doin about as alright as he can be, for y’know, a God,” Dean chuckles. “He’s a good kid, Cas, you did good with him.”

Castiel sighs, “He’s not so much a kid anymore, Dean.”

She peers through the crack in the door, almost 30 and still too nosy for her own damn good.

They’re sitting at the table that’s just for the two of them, their chairs across from each other. They both have a cup of coffee in front of them and it’s hard to tell from all the way over here, but Claire is reasonably certain that their ankles are hooked together. Huh.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers, setting his coffee cup down. “He’s not a kid anymore… guess that makes us old.”

Castiel grins and gets up from the table, walking out of Claire’s line of view. “I suppose that does make us old, doesn’t it?”

There’s some shuffling by the toaster oven, and then Cas is setting a plate down in front of Dean. And for a second, Claire thinks that she’s dreaming, because Castiel leans down and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead.

He says something that Claire can’t hear, not moving away from him, and Dean laughs, one of his arms reaching up to wrap around Castiel, settling on his neck.

It’s hard to see Dean’s face from this angle, but Claire is reasonably certain that he’s leering at Cas (and what the fuck, who leers at 5:30 in the morning?!).

“Cas, you sappy bastard.”

Dean pulls him down into a kiss, and as far as Claire is concerned, it goes on for a little bit too long for her to feel even remotely comfortable about it.

She steps away from the doorway, frowning mostly to herself. They’d always suspected, but… wow.

Dean and Cas are together, apparently.

She starts walking back towards the stairs, frowning a little when Miracle lifts her head up to watch Claire. “Figures,” she whispers, leaning down to pet her. “Couple’a queers settle down, open a bed and breakfast…”

Miracle pants happily, her tail thumping quietly against the bottom of the stairs. Claire grins, scratching behind her ears, “Guess they’re lucky, huh girl?”

Sarge comes up behind Claire, shoving her nose into her armpit, begging for attention too. Claire snorts, sitting down on the stairs with them.

* * *

In the kitchen, Castiel pulls back from the kiss, resting a hand on Dean’s cheek. The hand from Castiel’s neck settles on top of his hand, Dean bringing it down to his mouth to kiss it.

The sunlight breaks through the curtains, the light seeming to almost illuminate where their hands are joined together.

Castiel’s _D_ on his ring finger pops next to the _C_ on Dean’s.

Yeah, Dean thinks. Yeah, they’re pretty lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> further end notes: Dean and Cas are officially, full-out retired and only take cases that they are absolutely needed on. in the last part of this, it's been about 6ish years post finale, so Dean's getting close to 50 and Cas is, y'know, still old as fuck, but distinctly human now. they own and operate a B&B that's mainly for hunters, but half the year there's not really any hunts up there in Vermont, so they make most of their money selling honey, veggies, doing handiwork, Cas does craftsmanship stuff with wood (like, carves fancy things), etc. Sarge is the German Shepherd that Cas brought home two days after they moved in to the house and she only has 3 legs. Dean went back and got Miracle after the house was renovated, much to Sam's chagrin and Miracle's delight. Yes, Kiara, Jake and the grandkid did come visit the first July 4th that it was safe to have guests. Their second summer there, Dean steals Jack for a month and they create a pond on the back half of the property that people can swim in. Castiel inadvertently turns the property into a makeshift farm. Dean had to build a greenhouse, a climate controlled bee house and a barn that same summer. 
> 
> Jack is still whatever he is in canon, God or whatever, but he's gotten everything settled and under control, the natural order of things restored, and he decided to spend most of his time on Earth. He's been hunting with Claire and Kaia for a couple of years now, and Dean likes to call them Team Free Will Junior, which annoys Claire to no end. Claire and Kaia have kinda filled the void that Sam and Dean left in the hunting world, and now it's them that monsters are afraid of. Jack tags along mostly for help with information and to keep the two of them safe. 
> 
> (No, Claire is not their kid, nor do they treat her like she is, but Dean insisted on them having a room at the B&B that was just their own. He just wanted an excuse to see her and Kaia more than once a year.)
> 
> Sam and Eileen know that Dean and Cas are together, but they're not big on the PDA or anything, so nobody else really knows if they are or not. it's not that they try to hide it, it's just so... similar to how they've always been, nobody really notices. They have two rooms because sometimes Castiel needs space at night, and also, in the summer time Dean usually kicks him out of bed in the middle of the night because Cas is an honest to god furnace. Always running hot and an uncanny ability to find lost items are the only things that Cas is left with after his Grace dies. Jack offered to fix it for him, but he declined, saying that he was looking forward to getting old.


	22. what took you so long?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments from every romcom he’s ever seen flash by in his head, and if this is it, if this is the moment, it has to be good enough. The problem is, it’s Cas and Dean has never felt good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! 🖤 consider it a missing chunk of time from the last chapter. And yes, the song “What Took You So Long?” by Neck Deep is entirely what inspired this.

_I think I'm feeling like somebody  
I found some bliss in our insignificance  
No question, no doubt about it  
You are the difference, you are significant  
You make me significant  
You are significant_

  
Rexford was a long time ago, and yet Dean finds himself thinking about it often. How easy it had been for the two of them to fall back into it, to fall back into each other, like nothing had changed. Like neither one of them had left.

How he’d slipped out of bed after and slept in the Impala, because Dean is a god damn coward, and Castiel is still the most terrifying thing he’s ever faced.

Dean watches Castiel fix up a wall in the inn, his hands strong and sure. There’s something beautiful about this.

Castiel said it. He loves Dean.

Dean still hasn’t figured out how to say it back.

But Cas, he - he knows. He has to know, right? Back in that motel room, Dean had pressed the words into every inch of his skin, whispered them what felt like a thousand times. And the prayers, he’s not supposed to know that feelings come through in prayers, but Dean knows. He knows just how fucking gone he is on Cas, has been for years, longer than even he really remembers.

Every time Dean thinks of a moment where it clicked, where he fell in love with an angel, he’s reminded of another one.

For fuck’s sake, he’s worn his love for Castiel on his skin for years now. The Enochian on his hip, the feather on his thigh, the C in the webbing of his fingers - he’s gotta know. Everybody knows.

They’re better than they have been in years, but still, there’s so much history between them. Castiel sleeps in his bed more nights than he doesn’t, but they’re both too scared to close that gap. It’s peaceful right now. Dean’s spent so long just wanting Cas to stay that now that he has him, now that Cas is here, he’s so scared he’s going to fuck it up.

He thinks Cas probably feels the same way.

Dean had kissed him in the doorway of the bunker when he showed up.

It was a dumb, rash decision - hell, it wasn’t even a decision, it happened before he’d made the decision to do it - and Castiel had kissed him back. And they thought everything was going to be okay.

And then there was a hunt, and Castiel got hurt and Dean panicked and opened his big stupid mouth and they were back to not speaking. It took Dean three days of not sleeping and being drunk to apologize to Cas, to beg him not to leave. It had taken Castiel another two days to agree.

Sam keeps asking him what they’re doing up here if they aren’t together. Dean isn’t sure.

Because Castiel keeps his things in the other nightstand, their toothbrushes share a holder, they argue about the temperature in the bedroom and they’ve decided to add a second closet to their room so they don’t fight over whose clothes go where. It feels absurdly, wonderfully, incredibly like domesticity. Like they’ve finally chosen each other, like they’ve both decided to just be happy for once.

“Hey Cas?” Dean asks, his head swimming with possibilities.

There’s not an exterior wall in this room anymore and it’s supposed to rain tonight, this is probably something that should wait, but it feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t say it.

Castiel sighs, wiping sweat off of his forehead, and he looks beautiful. “What, Dean?”

It feels so obvious now. He feels so stupid.

“I...” Dean’s mouth works silently for a minute, no words finding their way out. He drops his hammer in frustration, a hand coming up to rub his face. This shouldn’t be hard.

Birds chirp outside, the summer sun beating down on his back, and Dean feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him when he opens his eyes.

“You,” Dean tries again, his heart flying into his throat. “You’re...”

Moments from every romcom he’s ever seen flash by in his head, and if this is it, if this is the moment, it has to be good enough. The problem is, it’s Cas and Dean has never felt good enough.

Castiel is as patient as ever, his face neutral and passive, and Dean wants nothing more than to wipe that look off his face.

“You’re it,” he finally chokes out. His heart is hammering away in his chest and a case from years past pops into his head, and he wonders if this is what that guy felt like. When his heart exploded out of his chest.

Dean nods, forcing himself to keep looking at Cas, “For me. You’re it, for me. There’s-“

And now that the floodgates have a crack in them, some water dribbling through, Dean feels the levy give out all at once.

“I don’t care if you changed your mind. There’s never going to be another person, Cas, it’s always going to be you,” he confesses, his hands clenching at his sides. “It’s always been you, man, from the first time you pulled me out of hell, I think that was when it happened, when you...”

Dean gestures vaguely to himself, his voice cracking, “And I’m no good at any of this, man. I’ve tried, and I don’t fit, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I don’t fit into the real world. And you are so fucking scary, Cas, because I want that stupid Apple pie life with you.”

It feels like his chest has been ripped open, and it’s only now that Dean realizes he’s been walking around feeling like this for months. Ever since Cas came back.

“The whole damn thing,” Dean admits. “The house, the picket fence, the kids, the dog, the growing old with you and dying with you - I want all of it.

I don’t want to disappoint you,” he chokes out. “You gave up everything for me, and I’m just-“

Castiel sets a hand on his shoulder and Dean hasn’t even realized that he moved. He closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into the touch. 

“I’m sorry. I need you, Cas, I’m no good without you. I’m not me, and I’m not happy, and you deserve way fucking better than me, but I’ll never do any better than you.”

Dean ducks his head, unable to read the look on Castiel’s face, “And I get it if you don’t want that with me, I’m an asshole and when I get scared I push you away and I’m always scared that I’m gonna lose you, Cas. But -“

A hand settles on his face and Castiel sighs, “Dean...” He smiles when Dean meets his eyes, and it’s a sight to behold.

“I’m here,” he promises, his thumb wiping away a tear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean’s hand settles on Castiel’s hip, gripping his shirt tightly, “I’m trying, Cas. I’m really trying.”

Trying to communicate more, trying to forgive, trying to get over himself, trying to make it worth it for Cas, trying to be there for someone who means everything to him. Cas deserves everything, and Dean has been trying desperately for months to give him anything that will make it worth it.

“You’re worth it,” Castiel promises him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Dean lets himself fall forward after a moment, his face falling into the safety of Castiel’s neck.

“We’ve got time, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

The first time Dean kisses Castiel again, they’ve finished the porch and the leaves are turning. Their beers fall to the floor with loud crashes and they’re too wrapped up in each other to notice.

The first time they make love, it’s in their newly finished kitchen. The record player is playing in the background, there’s snow falling outside and it’s messy, but it’s perfect. It’s perfect.

The first time Dean says it, they’re laying in bed on a Sunday morning, the dogs at their feet. Their family is coming soon to see the fruits of their labor, to see this life they’ve built together.

“I love you,” he whispers into Castiel’s hair. “I love you.”

The first time Castiel says it, he’s got Dean cornered in their pantry, pressed precariously up against the shelves.

“Marry me?” Castiel whispers, pressing kisses into his neck.

“Okay,” Dean whispers, his eyes softening in the dark. “Yeah, okay.”

_ Before you I could not see how I would coincide  
With the big world and such little time  
I was not me until I  
Discovered you  
I was not me until I  
Discovered you for the first time _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would maybe subscribe to this series/collection, because I keep thinking of other things I want to write that fit into this universe but don’t necessarily need to be part of this fic. 😉


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why didn’t Jo put anything about dad in her family tree?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, but I think this needs to be part of the main story lol. Joanna is like 13 here? And Scout is an ACD and Delilah is a cardigan welsh corgi and yes, they’ve expanded the farm part of the inn lol. The idea just came to me and it won’t leave me alone. 
> 
> Warnings for stuff referenced and talked about previously in this fic.

“Come on Joanna,” Castiel calls from the back door. “It’s time for bed.”

Jo sighs, standing up from her chair, “Okay, coming papa!” She fist bumps Sam’s offered hand, and leans down to give Dean a hug.

“Night daddy. Night Uncle Sam.”

Dean smiles, kissing the top of her head in the hug, “Love you kiddo.”

She scrunches up her face a little bit, feigning discomfort with the kiss but she’s still smiling. “Ugh gross dad, I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Something deep in Dean’s chest aches as he watches his youngest daughter run back into the house. He can hear Castiel talking quietly to her and her subsequent laughter. He’s been out of the game for twenty years now, and sometimes he still can’t believe this is his life.

The sound of early spring fills the silence for a few minutes, both of the Winchesters content to just drink their beers.

Eventually, though, the silence has to be broken. “Hey Dean?” Sam asks, turning in his chair a little bit to look at his brother.

“Hmm?” Dean hums, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving the pond in front of them.

For a moment, Sam hesitates, debating whether or not he should even ask the question.

Things have been good between them for a long, long time now. They’re both... hell, by hunter’s standards, they’re both old as shit. Dean’s gonna be 63 next year, Sam’s closer to 60 than he ever thought he’d get - and yet, he’s still kinda nervous to talk to his brother about this. 

“Why didn’t Jo put anything about dad in her family tree?”

Dean had been wondering when this would come up - if it would come up, really. If Sam would be brave enough to ask it. He takes a sip of his beer and sighs when he sets it down, trying to give himself enough time to think of an answer.

Somehow they’re both here, basically card carrying members of AARP, and Dean has never told his brother about his relationship with John after Sam left. Maybe it’s time he knew.

“Sammy...” He frowns a little bit, looking down at his hands, “You know that I loved dad, right?”

Sam shrugs, takes a second to adjust his glasses, “Of course, Dean, we both loved him.”

Dean smiles, more than a little bitter, “Did he ever tell you what happened after you left for Stanford?”

Somewhere nearby a frog croaks and the crickets start chirping. The sounds from the barn make their way up here too, the horses with their gentle neighs and the dogs playing happily together inside.

“No,” Sam answers after a minute. “No, neither one of you did.”

He’d tried, actually. He’d spent the first year calling Sam once a week to fill him in on what was going on. He’d stopped when Sam finally answered his calls and told Dean to stop.

Dean glances over at his baby brother, his hands fiddling with the beer bottle, “Dad and I didn’t really talk for a couple of years after you left.”

A couple dozen emotions fly across Sam’s face at that admission, but Dean pushes on before he can say anything.

“We worked jobs together when he called me,” he murmured, his eyes falling back down to the beer bottle in his hands. “But we didn’t... I don’t know, we just didn’t really actually talk, even when we were together.”

Sam holds up a hand, “But, Dean, you...?”

There’s a million things he could be asking, but Dean’s opened the floodgates now and he needs to keep talking.

“He called me two days before Christmas when I was 23,” Dean sighs. “Worked a case... don’t even remember what it was, now. But my dumb ass thought that after six months of radio silence, that he was calling because it was Christmas. Thought maybe he wanted to spend Christmas with me or something.”

He sniffles, chucking a little bit at himself, “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. He wanted me to come be bate for the monster. And then...”

His brain flashes back to that morning in the motel, John yelling at him and Dean finally, finally losing it.

“You know something Sammy?” Dean looks back over at his brother, smiling, “I pulled a gun on dad that day.”

Sam gapes at him, “ You ? You pulled a gun on dad?” He swallows, staring at Dean, “Why?”

Sam Winchester is 58 years old and he doesn’t have any clue what Dean did when he was a kid. He’d been kinda hoping that it was something he could take to his grave.

“He...” Dean licks his lips, frowning and looking back over the pond again, “He said some things... about me. About mom, and me. And I just...” He laughs a little bit, dizzy from the memory, “I’d hated John for a long time at that point. But...”

Do or die, Dean.

“I guess the final straw was him calling me a whore for y’know, hooking when we were kids. Telling me he knew about it, the whole damn time, and that mom wouldn’t even want me if she was around.”

As quickly as the chirping started, the crickets stop. If he wasn’t baring his soul to his brother, he’d probably laugh.

“The fact that he...” Dean snorts, shaking his head, “He was so damn angry, Sam, and I’d just - I’d had it. I’d had it with him and his bullshit, and hearing him talk about mom, hearing him try to insult me - I couldn’t take it. Not when I had moms journal. Not when I knew what they were really like.”

He could just stop talking here, probably should, because Sam didn’t need to know everything. It wouldn’t make either one of them feel better.

“I hadn’t talked to him in almost two years when I came and got you at Stanford, Sammy,” Dean admits. “Not even a job, really, in a year. And I was happy, Sam. I was miserable, but I was...”

It was the first time Dean had gotten to just... be himself. And as lonely as he was, as miserable as he was after leaving Jake, he was happier than he’d ever been.

Sam’s voice cracks when he finally asks, “So why’d you come and get me then? Why even look for dad at all?”

That’s a question that Dean has spent the last thirty years trying to figure out.

“Family obligation? Stockholm syndrome?” Dean offers, trying to keep his tone light, “I don’t know. I wish I had a better answer for you, but I don’t know. Reflex? Guilt? Brainwashing?”

He finally turns to look at Sam, shrugging, “What’s worse, what really freaked me out, was how much I still hated him, and couldn’t stop defending him. I didn’t understand why I did any of that until I got older.”

Dean takes the final swig of his beer, frowning at his lap when it’s empty, “I hated myself for hating him. I hated myself for loving him. I still have a hard time sorting that shit out, you know? Trying to separate John, the guy who used me as a punching bag, from my dad, who would read us stories and do the characters voices... or who would sneak us into movie theatres. Who taught us how to fight - gave me the Impala.”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, Sam. Jo asked me about our family, and I just... I didn’t want her to know about him. Not yet.”

Sam let’s all of the air out of his lungs, looking back out onto the water finally, “But you wanted her to know about mom?”

Dean smiles, mostly to himself, “Remind me when we go inside. I meant to show something to you a long time ago.”

One of the dogs comes bounding over to them, jumping up onto Dean’s lap with a happy yip. It makes him laugh, a real laugh, and he pulls Scout into a hug, “How did you get out here buddy?”

Castiel’s voice answers from somewhere behind them, “We were just coming to check on you two.” He leans down when he gets to Dean’s chair and gets pulled into a kiss, “You’ve been out here for a while.”

When they pull apart Dean grins, all the lines on his face new and obvious and a very good look for him. “We were talking.”

His hands brush back Dean’s rapidly graying hair, a soft smile on his face, “I figured. Jo told me she was showing you guys her final project.”

Sam smiles watching the two of them talk quietly amongst themselves for a minute, his brother’s other dog coming over to nose at his elbows. “Hey buddy,” he whispers, rubbing her ears. “You being a good girl?”

“That dog is a menace,” Dean scoffs, half heartedly glaring at the corgi in question. “She’s worse than Scout, and he’s supposed to be an obnoxious shithead.”

Castiel sighs, gently pulling at Dean’s hair before joining the brothers on another chair. “Again, Dean, I did try to tell you and Joanna that corgis are herding dogs. Delilah is simply trying to do her job.”

Dean glares at him, ignoring Scout stretching out on top of his body, “Her job involves yelling all the time? Because I thought her job was to help Scout with your stupid cows.”

“No,” Castiel sighs again, having had this argument for the two thousandth time in the last year. “You’re just bitter because you can’t remember to keep your food out of her reach.”

“Her legs are like three inches long, Cas! How the fuck is she getting shit off of the coffee table?!”

Sam grins to himself and pulls Delilah up onto the chair with him, letting the two of them bicker without interruption.

It’s nice. Normal. 

* * *

Later, when the three of them head back inside to go to bed, the dogs herding them the whole way, Sam stops his brother at the back door. 

He sets a hand on his shoulder, trying to communicate everything he wants to say with just his face, “Dean... thanks. For, y’know... everything.”

Dean ducks his head, smiling a little bit, “Don’t mention it, Sam. I’d do it all over again.”

He pulls his brother into a hug and he hopes that Sam knows how much he means that. That every single thing Dean ever did, ever had to go through, brought him here to this moment. 

And Dean’s never been a man of faith, never really believed that things happen for a reason, but this... he’d go through it all again to have a home, to have Cas, to have his kids, to have Sam be happy. 

“It was worth it, little brother. You were worth it.”


End file.
